


The Art of the Deal

by thisismyfreetime



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: (mando's a giver), Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dirty Talk, Dom!Mando, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Oral Sex, Reader Insert, Rough Sex, Smut, Touch Starved Mando, i wrote this for me you can read it if you want, in which i make up shit about space, inspired by rough day tbh, it's not fun unless everyone has a little bit of trauma, learning to let down walls and trust someone else, lord help me, lots of yearning and pining, probably a slow burn?, the helmet stays on (sometimes), tw for general warfare/violence & blood/death mentions & slavery mentions, what could go wrong, when two stubborn assholes decide to copilot a ship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29346909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisismyfreetime/pseuds/thisismyfreetime
Summary: You're standoffish, stubborn, and a bit of a bitch, but you're the best mechanic this side of the galaxy. And Mando's not used to back talk. The tension is electric... but stars, he's not sure sometimes if he wants to throttle you or fuck the ego right out of you... perhaps, both?**deviates from canon, mainly s1 Mando inspired**Inspired by Rough Day by guardianangelcas, but if sweet girl was a bitch with sarcasm as a defense mechanism, a blaster, and a secret.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You, Mandalorian/You, Mando/reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian/Reader
Comments: 40
Kudos: 237





	1. candles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We learn from the times that we are cursed_

You had woken up in a bad mood. 

There was no way around it, so you sighed and swung your feet over the edge of your bunk, slid them into your worn Bantha leather boots, and stretched your arms upwards as much as you could in your confined quarters. The cantina down the road had been rowdy throughout the short Tatooine night, and the sounds of blasters and shouts had kept you wide awake. It wasn’t an unusual phenomenon, but today it irritated you more than usual. 

You wiped your hands on your pants- you had just woken up, but there was already grime on them. There was always oil and grease and miscellaneous crap from the worn down ships that pulled into your shipyard, collapsing on the landing pad with heaving sighs. It was your speciality- reviving lost causes, piecing together something from nothing, getting coins tossed your way for your thrift and ingenuity. You had become a talented mechanic in the past years, and you had come to accept the grime that sat under your fingernails, caked into the creases of your palms. 

You pressed the heels of your hands into your eye sockets, attempting to alleviate the thumping of your head in your fatigue. The suns were already climbing in the pale blue sky, the heat already oppressive. It was going to be a long day, and you weren’t ready for it. Another day, crawling under the hull of some ship, doing what you did best. You could already feel the sweat trickling down between your shoulder blades, staining your shirt. 

Yes, you were in a bad mood. The heat had killed any gentleness you had left. 

### 

Your day got worse when a derelict gunship collapsed its way onto your landing pad in the early afternoon. You heaved a sigh and tipped your head upwards, closing your eyes in a gesture of defeat. Maker, how you wanted to crawl back into your bunk and pretend that nothing had happened. How you would love to take a day to yourself, to not have to scrap a living together by your grimy fingertips, to take a moment to rest and relax and pretend you weren’t on this planet of sand and hell.

Still, you rolled your shoulders back and turned to the droids beside you. You waved your hand and they darted towards the ship, beginning to service it and assess damages. You turned towards the Razor Crest, noting how it was practically falling apart at the seams. You weren’t surprised, the ship’s model itself was old, but this one had seen more than its fair share of wear and tear, you would wager. You never concerned yourself with the particulars of a ship, you just cared whether or not you would get paid for it.

The sand and the heat had killed any gentleness you had left.

You turned back to the speeder engine that sat in front of you, toying around with cables, attempting to bring it back to life so that you could sell it at the market for a credit or two. You didn’t even notice the figure leaving the hull of the ship, slinking into the slim shadows of the landing pad and surrounding vicinity, the shadows growing more scarce as the two suns rose in the sky. You probably should’ve greeted the inhabitant of the ship, seeing as you needed them to pay to stay on your landing dock, but your sour mood kept you from wanting to interact with anyone. Besides, whoever had landed on your dock would have to come back and collect their ship eventually. And then, you would collect.

“Stars above,” you cursed as the speeder engine shocked your fingers. The troublesome thing refused to cooperate with you, and you kicked it with your foot in frustration, attempting to refrain from tearing out your hair.

And then, a tug on your pant leg.

Your eyebrows knitted together, the corners of your mouth pulling down into a deep frown. You cast your gaze downwards, locking eyes with a… well… you don’t know exactly what it was, exactly. Some sort of green bug with absurdly large ears and black eyes the size of tennis balls looked up at you expectantly, cooing softly. Your confusion must have been written over your face, and you didn’t even notice yourself crouching down and picking the… _thing_ up into your arms, fingering the coarse brown burlap cloak it was swaddled in. 

“Well then…” you allowed yourself a sigh, “what could you possibly be?”

The creature cocked its head to the side, inspecting you as closely as you were inspecting it. It cooed softly, reaching a tiny, three-fingered hand forward and grabbing a piece of your hair. Your irritation thawed slightly. This... whatever it was, was slightly cute. You rested the thing on your hip and removed your hair from its grasp, swaying from one foot to the other in a subconscious instinct to soothe and comfort.

“Where did you come from?”

The thing’s ears’ pricked, and his oblong head turned. You followed his gaze, and were shocked at the sight that met you.

You had never seen one, of course, but you had heard the legends. Your mother referred to them like a sort of bogeyman, a monster that would grab you in the night and whisk you away, never to be seen again. If there had been a drop of moisture on your body- other than your sweat- your mouth would have gone dry at the sight of him. Oh, yes, you had heard the legends of the Mandalorians. 

But you had never anticipated how tall a Mandalorian would be. How broad he would be. The shine of his metal in the Tatooine suns was almost blinding, and there was something overbearing about his presence. His spine was impossibly straight, his shoulders squared, a blaster swung over his back and resting between his shoulder blades. And yes, there was the ubiquitous helmet, the sign of his people, the trademark of his reputation and creed. You didn’t know much about the Mandalorian lore, but you knew enough to know the importance of his helmet.

“Let go of my kid.”

The voice came through a raspy modulator, low and deep and threatening. Even now you noted one of his gloved hands resting on his blaster, a warning sign to you.

“Your kid?” you raised your eyebrows, your gaze flicking back and forth from the thing in your arms back to the armored man in front of you. Your hands gripped tighter around the kid, afraid to let him go and hand him over to a complete stranger. “There’s not much of a family resemblance.”

Silence. You had hoped for at least a laugh, a huff of breath that would acknowledge your joke. Your jaw ticked, your bad mood had returned. You sensed that the man in front of you was ready for a confrontation, and you simply weren’t in the mood for it.

“What do you think, kid?” you turned back to the little green monster in your arms. “Is this your dad?”

The kid turned to you and cooed, reaching his little arms out towards the large man in the shining Beskar standing in front of you. He shifted in your grasp, leaning towards him.

“Well then,” you said, taking a step forward towards the Mandalorian, “I guess that’s the confirmation I need.” The figure reached forwards and took the creature from you, holding it close to his metal-clad chest.

You rested back, shifting your weight onto your back foot, watching the Mandalorian cradle the green gremlin close, shifting into the same movement you had previously adopted, swaying the kid back and forth. 

“This your ship?” you ask, gesturing towards the hunk of metal in your pad.

The Mandalorian glanced over his shoulder. “Yes,” he said warily, as if he was exhausted by the sentiment.

“It’s a shock you landed at all,” you said sarcastically, resting a hand on your hip. “It’s five credits a day to dock here.”

“That’s fine.” The response was short, curt, filtered through the modulator. “Won’t be here long.”

You brushed past him into the loading bay, aware of your momentary proximity to him but refusing to shirk under his presence. It was impossible to know for sure, but you swore you felt his eyes boring into you from behind the helmet. You walked around the ship, inspecting it carefully. You pressed a finger to your lips, thinking.

“Your hyperdrive is on the brink of giving out,” you concluded finally.

“And how would you know?” Stars, even through the modulator his disdain was palpable. “You haven’t even seen the controls inside.”

You turned around to face him as he strode back towards his ship, the ammo belt around his waist clinking against his hip. He still held the kid in his arms, close to him like a prized possession he was afraid to lose.

“You can tell from the wear on the outer wings,” you said smugly, turning your nose up to him, looking into what you thought were his eyes.... Well, at least where you at least thought his eyes would be. “Let me guess, every time you try to make a jump, you need to give it two or three goes before it finally makes the leap. And it shudders the whole time.”

Silence.

You chose to take his silence as a confirmation, although he hadn’t been all too talkative with you so far. 

“It’s not surprising,” you said, finally, “I’ve seen all sorts of junk come through these parts, and I’ve always been able to repair it.”

“It’s not junk.”

“Listen,” you said, crossing your arms, eyebrows narrowing. “You can call it whatever you want. I know it when I see it. So, I’ll tell you what.”

The Mandalorian fell silent again, staring at you and waiting for you to continue. You were not uncomfortable with silence; having lived on your own for several years at this point, you would say that you were rather used to silence. But there was something about his interactions, his way of conversing, that made you feel that he expected you to fill his silence with something of your own.

“I’ll fix your ship,” you offered.

“Don’t have the credits,” he said brusquely, dismissively, his tone cold. 

You rolled your eyes. “You don’t have the credits _yet_ ,” you clarified for him. In your irritation, you grew bolder, more daring. You didn’t want to talk to him, you just wanted him out of your hair so you could tune out the world and fiddle with machine parts. “Mandalorians don’t just joyride from planet to planet,” you mused. “I imagine that whenever you finish your business here, you’ll have the credits to pay me. It’s not like you’d be able to fly away from this loading dock, anyways. Either way, you’ll have to square up.”

The Mandalorian cocked his head and took a step towards you. He paused, your breath hitching in your throat. You didn’t think much of threatening a customer, even if he was a Mandalorian. Stars, half the time you ever got paid was if you leveraged threats. This was the world you knew. It was harsh and unforgiving, but you had learned to scrape by. Nobody gets anything for free, no matter how much Beskar he’s wearing.

The Mandalorian continued to step towards you, until he towered over you, his form blocking the suns, giving you relief in his shade. His helmet hung mere inches from yours, and he exhaled slowly, painfully. Your eyes darted from his helmet to his broad shoulders, the width of his hands grasped around the kid. Maker… was his proximity turning you on?

“And what if I tell you to fuck off?” he asked, his voice low and threatening. “What if I just shoot you right here, rid Tatooine of another crooked mechanic?”

You moved closer to him, although you doubted that was even possible. He smelled tangy and musky, like old sweat, and you imagine you do too. His hands gripped around the baby, and you recognized his weakness. Before he could react, you pulled the blaster from your hip, pressing it against his throat, the soft spot of flesh in between where his helmet ended and his chest plate began.

“Your mistake is assuming I wouldn’t shoot first,” you said cooly. “Of assuming I wouldn’t shoot in front of the kid.”

You took several steps back out of his range and tucked the blaster back into the waistband of your pants. You lifted your hands up to him. “No, Mandalorian, I think you and I understand each other just fine. I’ll fix your ship, you’ll pay me, and whenever you retrieve what it is you came here for, you’ll be able to jump to hyperspace with less hassle.”

“And you’ll watch the kid.”

You restrained yourself from dropping your jaw open and your eyes narrow. Stars above, you just had your blaster pressed against his throat, and now he was going to leave his kid with you? You were never that keen on children, anyways, but it seemed that the little green gremlin was quickly working its way into the deal.

“That’s not part of my job.”

“It is now,” he said gruffly, his modulator thinly hiding his annoyance. “Might as well get my money’s worth out of it.” He pressed the kid into your arms, and you tried to disguise your quickly worsening mood at the idea of babysitting.

“Yeah, well, my rates just went up,” you said to him.

“Fine,” he replied. “But if anything happens to that kid, I won’t hesitate to shoot you like the Tatooine scum you are.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you sneered, hoisting the kid onto your hip. Maker, how had this day gone from bad to worse? Now you were saddled with a decrepit ship and a useless, tottering green… well, you still weren’t sure what he was, but you were sure that he was only going to be a nuisance. And his father… father, or guardian? Whatever he was, he had only gotten under your skin since the minute he opened his mouth behind that damn helmet of his. No, both of them were more trouble than they were worth, that much was certain.

You saw how the Mandalorian lingered in the doorway of the ship hangar, pausing, his gaze seemingly directed at the kid in your arms. Your bad mood fractured for a small moment. A moment was all you needed.

“I’ll keep it safe, Mandalorian,” you said finally. “The ship and the kid.”

He nodded slowly, confirming. “I’ll be back in a few days to collect him. I expect the repairs will be done by then.”

“And I expect you’ll have your quarry by then.”

The Mandalorian paused, his posture stiffening. He seemed to forget that this was Tatooine, and bounty hunting was a way of life here. It had never occurred to him that you had been surrounded by his ilk all your life, that you knew a hunter when you saw one. And judging by the amount of Beskar he wore, you imagined he would bring in a quarry for a hefty reward. Certainly enough to pay for some ship repairs and a few days of babysitting.

Without another word, the Mandalorian pivoted on his heel, marching his way out of your hangar and onto the crowded streets of Mos Eisley. You watched him go, his cape swaying behind him, until he faded into the crowd. Your gaze then moved to the creature resting on your hip, his mouth opening and closing, gurgling sounds emerging in a tiny voice.

“Come on,” you said, finally. “Let’s get you out of the heat. Tell me, can you hold a glow-rod? I’ll make you useful, yet.”


	2. talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things we'd do  
>  So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imagining you _

When the Mandalorian finally returned to his ship, four days later, he was exhausted. He breezed by the hut at the entrance of the landing pad and stalked into the hull of his ship, leading a now-subdued Arcona behind him. His quarry, once secured in carbonite, would yield him a profitable reward from Karga, but now, all he had to worry about was the thorn in his side that was the mouthy mechanic in charge of his kid. 

In fact, as he looked around the ship, his blood chilled when he noticed that neither the kid nor the mechanic was present. Maker, if something had happened to that damn kid…

His hand gripped around the blaster at his hip, immediately put on edge. Assured that the Arcona was frozen and stored for travel, he left the ship, stepping once more into the dry Tatooine air. The temperature had finally cooled, the twin suns dipping low on the horizon, casting the sky shades of lavender and blue that almost made the planet look pretty. The Mandalorian’s attention turned to the small hut. The lights were on, and the receptors in his helmet picked up a female voice. He braced himself for another confrontation as he approached the open door.

“Hello?”

Silence.

He still heard your voice coming from inside the hut, and with his blaster at the ready, entered the structure. It wasn’t quite a building- the ceiling was low in a typical Tatooine fashion, and it was nearly overrun with spare ship parts, nuts and bolts and fasteners that you someday hoped you would be able to fashion into a functioning vessel that would transport you off this hellish planet. The Mandalorian wouldn’t know that, though. All he focused on was the light at the end of a narrow hallway, and another open door.

And then, singing.

The Mandalorian stopped, hesitated. He lowered his blaster. The low hum of an ultrasonic shower shook the clay of the hut, and the Mandalorian began to put the pieces together.

“Where’s the kid?” he asked, finally, his voice loud this time.

“What the fuck,” you shouted, grateful that he was in another room so he wouldn’t see you jump at the sound of his voice. “You scared the shit out of me, Mandalorian,” you shouted over the hum of the shower.

“Where’s the kid,” he repeated, his voice low. He took another step down the hallway towards the open door.

“Calm down,” you rolled your eyes from the other room. You whistled through your front teeth, and the Mandalorian turned to see the kid’s floating cradle emerge from the wreckage of the hut, petering towards the open door.

The Mandalorian held out a hand, stopping the egg in its tracks. He pushed a button on the side, and the case opened, revealing the green bug fast asleep inside. The Mandalorian released a sigh, audible to you even through his modulator, even from another room.

“Satisfied?”

You heard a low “humph” from the hallway, and you smiled to yourself. You finished removing your undergarments and stepped into the ultrasonic shower, pressing a button to begin the cleaning cycle. As it was with all showers on Tatooine, there was no water, only ultrasonic waves shaking the dirt and grime off your tired body. No wonder you still woke up with oil under your fingernails, and your hair always felt frizzy and dry. You ran your hands through your hair, attempting to detangle it, and rubbed your face with a cleaning powder that operated without water. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a glint of metal. A corner of a worn, torn cape. Was he… standing by the door?

“What do you think you’re doing?” you asked accusingly, your eyes narrowing at the figure looming just outside of the bathroom.

“The door is open.”

He said it simply, a short statement. And yet, you hear the hint of incredulity in his tone, an accusation back at you.

“And? I don’t often get visitors.”

Silence.

“Fine,” you huff, scraping the dirt and sand off your arms. “Lurk all you want, just don’t look.”

Another pause. You hear his boots scrape against your dirt floor. A sigh. “I won’t look.”

You smile to yourself, trying to imagine the Mandalorian leaning up against the doorframe, his head tilted back. Something about this situation was hot. You held all the chips. Here you were, naked in the shower, forcing the bounty hunter to stay outside in the hall. You could see the glint of his armor, the vague outline of his broad frame, the towering force of his presence, and yet you forbid him to see any of you. You rolled your eyes at your own thoughts.

When the “shower” finished its cycle, you stepped out and began rubbing lotion on your legs. This lotion was the only thing saving your skin from absolutely drying out into leather in the heat of this cursed planet, and you were running low.

“I don’t have all night.”

“You do, actually,” you huffed, continuing to rub the lotion into your skin. “Big storm’s coming through. Surprised your scanner didn’t pick it up.”

The Mandalorian immediately pulled up his scanner, cursing under his breath when he saw that you were right. A big sandstorm was moving quickly towards your area, and he wasn’t sure how long it would last. 

“So, it seems you’re not leaving tonight, then.”

His head turned and he saw that you had popped your head out of the bathroom. A smug grin on your face, and just enough of you leaning out of the door frame that he can see you were still not wearing a shirt. He trapped a low growl in his throat and turned back away from you, resting back on the wall of the corridor.

“Besides,” you continued, pulling back into the bathroom and haphazardly throwing on a pair of clean(er) work pants and a thin tank top, “my shower is my favorite part of my day. I’m not about to rush it because some tin can decides it’s time for me to go. I do things my own way on my own time, Mandalorian, get used to it.”

You saw him stiffen. You hoped you would get more of a rise out of him, but he said nothing in response. You weren’t sure why you were so keen on riling him up, maybe it was because you couldn’t see how he was responding underneath that helmet of his. You wanted to push his buttons until he made it absolutely clear how he was feeling. You pushed everyone’s buttons, anyways. Apart from being the best mechanic this side of the Outer Rim, being a pain in the ass was perhaps your greatest talent. This Mandalorian was simply the only one so far that you couldn’t get a read on.

“I hope you have my payment,” you said dismissively, brushing past him into the hallway. Your shoulder bumped into the thick column of his bicep in the small doorway, and you could feel his gaze intensify as he looked at you.

Silence.

“I see.” You turned from him and walked down the narrow hallway, calling back over your shoulder, “You stink. You can use the shower if you want.”

“No.”

Your eyes flit up and down his body, assessing the dirt on his armor, the clear slope of his broad shoulders. “There is a door, you know, and the door locks.”

“No.”

You lifted up your hands in defeat. “Fine, fine, forget I said anything. Since you can’t fly tonight, make yourself comfortable.” You gestured to the larger expanse of the hut before walking to the front door of the hut, closing the door. Even now, the winds were beginning to pick up, indicating the prompt arrival of the sandstorm.

“Where?” 

You gave a small, tight-lipped smile, amused. You saw the room through his eyes, covered in bits and pieces of barely working junk. “Anywhere you can. Like I said, I don’t get too many guests.”

You walked into the shell of a kitchen, illuminated by a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. The entire hut was dark- you were often so tired after a day of bringing ships back to life, that you didn’t have any energy for anything other than showering and crawling into bed, nursing the calluses on your hands. But tonight, you went through the effort of preparing two plates of something resembling food. Perhaps it was because you had been taking care of the kid for the past few days, but you felt compelled to at least offer some semblance of hospitality to the Mandalorian. Besides, he still owed you money, it wouldn’t do to chase him off.

From a lone chair tucked into the darkness, the Mandalorian watched you putter around in the other room. You operated like a dancer, your movements fluid and natural in your own habitat. The Mandalorian saw clearly the sweet curve of your spine, the gliding of your shoulder blades, the angle of your jaw illuminated in the soft light. He saw when your tongue poked out in frustration when you struck an appliance, desperately willing it to warm the food. He was captivated by the way you wet your lips, parting them softly with a sigh. 

By the time you carried him a plate of food, he had completely memorized the curves of your body. He was particularly intrigued by the thin slip you had called a tank top, a barely-there illusion of fabric that clung to your breasts. If he had asked, you would have said that it was the only clean shirt you had. If you had asked, he would’ve ripped it off you without hesitation.

You handed him his plate without a word, positioning yourself on a rusty stool across from the room. Without thinking, you began to shovel food into your mouth, pausing only to look up and glance at the Mandalorian, who still sat unmoving, his plate in front of him. The pieces clicked.

“Oh,” you mumbled, a blush rising to your cheeks. “Sorry… um, would this help?” You swiveled the stool around to face the wall.

You paused, holding your breath. After a moment, you heard a click and a thump as his helmet knocked into a piece of scrap metal on a nearby table. 

“Don’t look.”

Your insides clenched when you heard his voice for the first time without the modulator. Stars, why did it send you into a frenzy? Raspy and deep, and yet so unlike what you had heard before. Your shoulders braced, sensing the weight of this decision on him.

“I won’t look,” you said, enunciating every word, wanting him to know that you were serious. “I promise.”

He scoffed at you. You couldn’t see him, but you heard the scrape of his fork against his plate. “You, making a promise?”

“I might be Tatooine scum,” you bite back, using his own words, “but I’m not a fucking liar. I told you I’d take care of the kid, and the kid is safe. I told you I’d repair your hyperdrive, and I did that and some more. And I told you I won’t look.”

Silence.

“Which brings me back to the point at hand,” you said finally. Maker, his silences were beginning to get under your skin. “When are you going to pay me?”

“How much?”

“Well, twenty credits just for staying here,” you said, taking another bite. “And, let’s say another thirty-five for the repairs. You do the math.”

He paused. “I can do thirty-five, total.”

You laughed at him. Well, you laughed at the wall in front of you, but you laughed at him. A cold, unfeeling laugh, more of a sarcastic bark than anything with actual humor in it. This was decidedly not humorous. 

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. No, you can do better than that.”

“I know you Tatooine mechanics,” he shot back, anger laced through his voice. “Always trying to rip something off.”

You threw your head back and actually laughed this time. “You know us ‘Tatooine mechanics’? You think you know me- you think you know why I do what I do? What’s my fucking name, Mandalorian?”

Silence. 

“Left your fucking kid with me, but you don’t even know my name,” you laughed. “Some father you are.”

“Didn’t think to ask.”

This time, you pause. Finally, you spit your name out. You hear another “hmph” from him, and realize that was the only acknowledgement and introduction you would get. 

“Thirty-five, or no deal.”

“No deal, Mandalorian,” you shot back. “I didn’t spend days tying your ship back together for a measly thirty-five credits.”

“What’s stopping me from throwing you thirty-five and getting the fuck out of here?”

“You think I wouldn’t pull a very strategic plug, keep you grounded?” You wager back. If he wanted to play dirty, you could play dirty. In the end, you would get your money. You always did.

The Mandalorian fell silent, and you knew you had him. You had seen his slipshod attempts at repairing the ship- it was cute, almost, his child-like attempts to re-wire systems that needed to be completely dismantled and put back together again. You and he both knew that if you took it upon yourself to take apart his ship, he couldn’t put it back together. 

“Could always shoot you for fucking with me and find another mechanic,” he threatened. This time, his voice came through the modulator. The helmet was back on. 

“Then you clearly don’t know Tatooine mechanics,” you replied cooly. “I’m the only honest one you’d find. At least I’m telling you that I’m screwing you over. Although,” your voice drops, “you’re the one fucking with me here, trying to low-ball me. We haven’t even talked about the days of babysitting your gremlin of a kid.”

Your spine straightened when you felt the cool metal barrel of a blaster pressed against the nape of your neck. You stood up from the stool slowly, feeling the blaster move with you. You weren’t surprised, nor were you scared. This wasn’t the first time you had been held up at gunpoint over price negotiations- it was practically part of the job description. You turned around to face him and the Mandalorian adjusted his aim, now resting the barrel of the blaster against the plane of your sternum, right above the swell of your breasts in your too-thin tank top. You suppressed a smile- finally, _finally_ , you knew you had gotten under his skin. You wanted to poke him until he showed you how he felt under that helmet, and what could be more clear than a blaster pressed up against you?

“I’m no use to you dead, Mandalorian,” you threaten lowly. “Even if you found another damn mechanic that wouldn’t cheat you, they wouldn’t know how to fix your wreck of a ship.” You stared up into the black visor, hoping he wouldn’t call your bluff. 

“Certainly wouldn’t be able to find another mechanic that would turn a blind eye to the kid,” you said finally. Your last bargaining chip. “He’s very special.”

The Mandalorian stiffened. With that one movement, you knew you had him. Finally, you gave a small smile. Calling his bluff, you leaned down and took the empty plate from his chair, collecting it with yours. His blaster still rested on your skin, moving with you through your actions, but you knew he wouldn’t pull the trigger. Not when he knew you were right about the kid.

“So, Mandalorian,” you said, stepping away from him and walking to the kitchen, depositing the dishes. His arm was still raised, still aiming directly at your forehead. You crossed your arms in front of your chest, your mouth quickly turning down into a scowl, and shook your head to get the hair out of your face. “It seems we’ve reached an impasse.”

You walked back to him, getting close to him, close enough that you had to tilt your head almost directly upwards in order to look where you thought his eyes were. You resisted the urge to rest your hands on his shoulders- if this had been any other man, you had tried and true ways to reduce him to nothing in your hands, in your mouth, to make him agree to any deal, any terms you proposed. The helmet severely limited your negotiating options.

“Put the blaster away and let’s make a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapters will come on an ad-hoc basis, really whenever I have time and inspiration.


	3. disarm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The killer in me is the killer in you_

“I think we can come to an agreement.”

The Mandalorian huffed, lowering his blaster slightly. “I don’t negotiate. You’ll do what I tell you.”

You rolled your eyes, but you felt your center throb at his words. It was a subconscious reaction, and you weren’t sure where the response came from, but perhaps in your long-term loneliness, your brain twisted his words into something more promising, something more alluring, more… inviting. 

“I’ve never followed orders well,” you responded, almost as if to dare him to try it. You positioned yourself on the stool you had vacated, waving to him to sit back down, to de-escalate the situation, to at least holster the blaster. 

The Mandalorian resumed his seat, perched on the edge of it, lowering the blaster but still keeping it in his hands. It’s a start, you figured, and so you leaned forward and clasped your hands together. You knew what you wanted, the question was, how were you going to frame it? Outside, the winds of the sandstorm howled, throwing sheathes of coarse desert sand at the closed door, the thick walls of the hut. The lone light in the kitchen flickered ominously as you stared at the man in the metal suit.

“What’s the damn proposition?”

You considered him carefully. No, he wouldn’t respond to any of your games. There was only one option- to lay your cards out on the table. The only way to get the Mandalorian’s respect was to speak his language. Long silences, straight to the point, no lies.

“I want off this fucking planet.”

Silence.

The Mandalorian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knee. You swore you could see the gears in his mind turning. Even now, you were beginning to try to imagine the face under the helmet, tried to picture his eyebrows furrowing together, lips pulling down into a frown. You knew he wouldn’t like your plan, but he was your best option. After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke.

“Who are you running from?” His voice low, muffled through the modulator, softer than you had expected it.

“What?” you blink at him, surprised at his question. 

“Your business is profitable,” he says simply. “Why would you want to leave it?”

This time, the surprise was written on your face. “What makes you say that?”

Stars, you could practically hear his smug smile when he next spoke. “You’re not the only one with connections around here.” He leaned back in the chair, finally strapping his blaster to his hip, crossing his leg, an ankle on a knee in the first gesture of comfort you had seen from him. He thought he had the upper hand, you realized. How wrong he was.

“You better check your informants,” you replied, leaning back against the now cool clay wall of the hut. “This shipyard hasn’t turned a profit in almost two standard galactic years.” 

He paused. Usually he was so good at reading people, their strengths and weaknesses, but there was something about your blatant arrogance, your insistence that you knew everything, that threw him off. Part of him, not an insignificant part either, wanted to wrap a gloved hand around your throat, to finally get you to tell him the fucking truth.

“Your lotion,” he said finally. His voice was soft through the modulator. “It smells like Nlora flowers. Expensive, foreign.”

This time, you stayed silent. He was right, and you wondered how he was knew. Was he secretly a botanist, or was he simply much more attentive than you gave him credit for? Your face was an inscrutable mask, and you pulled a play out of his book, staying silent and waiting for him to say something else.

“Where would an impoverished mechanic on the Outer Rim get something like that?”

This time, you laugh. It’s short, more of an exhale as you look down at the caked dirt on your hands. “Would you even believe me if I said a lover gave it to me?” you looked back up at the expressionless helmet. “I doubt you would.”

You couldn’t help but smile fondly when you remembered Malisam. He wasn’t any nicer than any of your previous lovers, but when his merchant ship hauled its way into the shipyard and he revealed himself to you as a smuggler, you couldn’t help but be drawn to him. He had never stayed more than two nights at a time, returning after weeks apart, always with a small present from a distant world. He would kiss you gently, leading your hands over his soft brown skin, down, down, until you were on your knees and welcoming him back to you once more. When he had first given you the Nlora lotion, he had spent hours on you, working it into every exhausted and tight muscle of your body, your whispered thank you’s giving way to panting sighs once he fixed his mouth on your aching cunt.

“Current or former?”

The Mandalorian’s voice snapped you out of your daze. Maker, was that a hint of jealousy coming from him? You couldn’t be quite sure, but his voice was not as rough as it had been with you… but he certainly wasn’t relaxed anymore.

“Would it matter?” you shot back. “I still want to get the fuck out of here.”

“You have enough junk you can sell to earn passage aboard a ship,” he said, looking around the room. You nodded your head- that, at least, was true. It was perhaps the first correct judgement he had made about you during his time here. There was only one answer to that question, one you hated to admit.

“Where would I go?” you shrugged your shoulders. 

The Mandalorian sat silent again, as if considering your words, your momentary break and your authenticity.

“I’m not a taxi service,” he muttered. “I’m already flying one extra mouth across the galaxy, I don’t need another one.”

Your eyebrows shot up towards your forehead. This was perhaps the first time he had ever shown anything other than affection towards the kid. You could see that his practical side was kicking in, and so you had a moment to make your case.

“I’m a mechanic, remember?” you managed to force a smile. “I was able to patch your ship, but it’s going to need more repairs. I can’t make it brand new again. You could either drag it to another crooked mechanic every twelve or-so parsecs, or,” you took a deep breath, “I could help.”

The Mandalorian cocked his head at you, finally grasping what you were asking of him.

“Plus, the kid likes me too.”

He fell silent after that. He leaned back in the chair again, spreading his arms out and crossing his ankle over his knee once more. Maker… maybe it was the fleeting memory of Malisam, the ache in your core that you got when you remembered what it was like to lay next to a man, or maybe it was the vision of the heavily armed bounty hunter sitting in your midst, but seeing him like this decidedly turned you on. Yes, you thought, you were turned on. There was no way around it.

“Who are you running from?” he eventually asked, repeating his question from earlier.

“Why do you keep asking?” you respond bitterly. “I’m not running from anyone.”

“What are you running from, then?”

“Are you always this insistent?” you could’ve shouted at him. “Isn’t it enough that I just want to get away?”

The Mandalorian laced his gloved fingers together. “No.”

You swallowed thickly and attempted to shove your irritation down, down deep into your stomach. Taking a long exhale, it took everything you had not to draw your own blaster on the man. Stars, he was insufferable with his prying questions, his insistence that you had done something wrong.

“I’m alone,” you admitted. “And every day that I stay here I’m reminded of why. Maybe I want to escape that.” You stood up brusquely, sending a pile of scrap metal clattering to the floor. “And maybe you shouldn’t blame me for that.”

You hastily step towards the kitchen, taking a shaky inhale. You hadn’t thought about it for years, and the mere suggestion of the memory was enough to scramble your mind, to make your knees wobble.

“How old were you?”

You rested your weight on the wall of the corridor leading to your room. Slowly, you turned back to the Mandalorian sitting in the darkness. Stars above, if your hands weren’t shaking you would’ve shot him. You swore it.

“What?” it was more of a hiss than a question.

“How old were you when they died?”

You hated yourself. You hated yourself for being so readable. You hated yourself because he didn’t have to clarify who he was talking about. You hated yourself for being so fucking weak, for being so easily shaken. You hated him for his questions, but you hated yourself for answering them. For being the interrogated, rather than the interrogator. At what point did you lose the upper hand? You weren’t sure. 

“Twelve.”

The Mandalorian gave a small nod, a movement so slight that your only indication of it was the glint of his helmet. “A child.”

You steeled yourself. Whatever emotion you had succumbed to only a moment ago was buried once more. Your tears had dried up in the sands of the desert around you.

“There’s not a single child in the galaxy that hasn’t known violence,” you said, your voice low. You nodded your head at the floating egg in the corner. “Including that one, I’d imagine.”

The Mandalorian didn’t respond. He only sat there in the dark, his hands folded together and his helmet staring at the kid’s bassinet. 

“I’m going to sleep,” you said after a moment. “It’s getting late. The storm should clear in the morning.”

Silence.

“I’ll consider your offer.”

Your ears perked and your heart swelled. It was more hope than you had indulged yourself in years. 

“That’s all I ask.”

### 

The next morning, you were awoken by the light in your room flashing on far too early for your liking. You immediately threw your arm over your eyes, attempting to block out the light. 

“What the fuck,” you growled, rolling over and burying your face into your pillow.

“I have some rules.”

You attempted to clear the fatigue out of your brain when you heard the modulated voice echo through your room. You yawned lazily, peeping an eye open and seeing the Mandalorian standing in the doorway of your room, his hands resting on his narrow hips. You weren’t surprised that he already wore his armor, although you suspected that he had roused you at the crack of dawn. You doubted whether he had even slept at all.

“You really know how to suck the fun out of a situation, don’t you?”

“First, we go where I say. This isn’t a cruise ship, this is my job. You want to see the galaxy? We go where I say we go.”

“Fine, fine,” you rub your eyes. “We’ll see shitty planets and track down war criminals.” You sat up in your bunk, drawing your knees to your chest. The sheet fell down, revealing the skimpy tank top you had worn the previous night, the fabric having rode up in the night, your midriff exposed. You were thankful that the blanket at least covered the fact that you weren’t wearing any trousers- you didn’t want to expose yourself to the man… yet.

“Second, when we’re in public, you’re my mechanic, nothing else.”

You cocked your head to the side, already ready to start pushing his buttons. “What else would I be?”

“You know what I mean,” he said gruffly. “Mechanic. You don’t know anything about me. If anyone asks, you lie.”

You shrugged your shoulders. That was fine to you, you doubted that he would ever give you any crumbs of personality, anyways.

“Third, if I’m not on the ship, you guard the kid with your life.” He paused. “I don’t give a shit if the ship goes up in flames, as long as the kid isn’t on it.”

You swallowed thickly, processing his words. “Got it. Kid first.”

“Last,” he stalked into the small room, standing almost directly above you. “And most important. You will follow orders, no questions asked.”

This time, you shook your head. The idea of blindly following orders, of having people tell you what to do and you unwaveringly doing as you were told, sent shivers down your spine that the Mandalorian could never understand. 

“No,” you told him flatly. 

“I won’t have my authority questioned on my own ship,” he threatened lowly. “I won’t tolerate disobedience.”

“Although I’m sure you don’t have a problem when the kid misbehaves,” you rolled your eyes, standing up from the bed, doing your best to intimidate him and stare him down. The sheets fell from your body, leaving you in just your tank top and underwear. It was a fundamentally compromising position, but you knew you had to posture in front of him to be taken seriously. You weren’t embarrassed to be seen by him, weren’t ashamed to watch his helmet take a dip, an obvious glance at your lack of clothing.

“The kid never held a blaster to my throat,” he said after a moment, his voice audibly constricted. A smile crept to your lips- was your near nakedness having an effect on him? And he thought he was making demands.

You let out a chuckle at that comment. “Ok,” you admitted, “that’s fair.” You brushed past him and grabbed your pants from the previous night, shoving them on, putting the man out of his misery. You swore you saw him relax, ever so slightly, once you were suitably covered.

“I agree to not threaten you with a blaster again,” you said after a moment. “I will not agree to following blindly.”

“I never asked for following blindly.”

“You asked for no questions,” you said, glaring at him. “I don’t do that.”

He took a step towards you. “You seem to forget that I’m the one offering you a way out of here. You don’t get to negotiate these terms.”

“That’s the only one I have a problem with.”

After a moment, he sighed. “It’s a safety thing,” he murmured. “My work is dangerous. If you don’t listen, you or the kid could get hurt.”

“I’m not an idiot,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes at his attempts of chivalry. “I’ve survived this long by myself, you think I don’t know how to handle myself and keep myself safe?”

He rested his hands on his hips for a moment, glancing down at the ground before looking around the room. You watched him battle internally, seeing the conflict as clear as if it had been written on his face. He wanted- no, needed- authority, and you were refusing to give it to him. Finally, he reached forward and took your blaster in his gloved hand. Your spine stiffened- it was never particularly a good thing when a practically unknown bounty hunter stood in your room armed with your blaster. He sighed again, long and slow, as if he was releasing a pressure valve from somewhere inside his skull, before stepping forward and handing it to you.

“I know you can handle yourself,” he confirmed. “But if your arrogance puts us in danger, I won’t hesitate to leave you at the next trading post. I don’t give a shit where that is.”

You tucked the blaster into the waistband of your pants, suppressing a grin. “Roger that.”

“Pack your things,” he said gruffly. “We leave in an hour.” He pushed past you, back out into the rest of the hut, where you heard the green bug crying softly.

It was only when you were sure he was gone that you let out a small squeal, pressing your hands to your mouth to mask the noise. Your hands were shaking with excitement, and you grabbed a bag from under your bunk to begin packing.

The Mandalorian watched from the doorway. It was the first time he had seen you genuinely smile.


	4. can't pretend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Feel, my skin is rough, but it can be cleansed_

“Fuck,” you cursed, throwing down your wrench, clutching your fingers. Exhausted and frustrated with the switchboard, you wheeled yourself out from under the control panel of the ship’s navigation system. You shook your hand, hoping that it would relieve the sting of the electrical shocks before sucking the tip of your index and middle finger, hoping to ease the pain.

Across the hull of the ship, you heard a small laugh. You looked up to see the familiar pair of wide green ears, tiny wrinkled hands pushed up to a toothless mouth in a childlike giggle.

“I’m guessing you find this awfully funny,” you hissed, not sure if the creature could understand you or not.

The creature shrugged its shoulders, wobbling across the floor and plopping itself next to you, leaning its head against your thigh. You sighed and rubbed your temples, closing your eyes for just a moment. 

The past week and a half had been exhausting, to say the least. 

You had immediately tumbled over when the ship had taken off from the landing port in Tatooine. That should’ve been your first sign that things weren’t going to go well. You blushed at the memory, how Mando had pretended not to notice your clumsiness, how you had crawled your way through the cockpit and planted yourself in the copilot’s chair, shaking hands hastily buckling your trembling body into place. It was in that moment that you were briefly thankful for the Mandalorian’s silence. He had been keen enough to interrogate you the night before, but at this most crucial moment, he had been mercifully silent.

You had repaired hundreds of ships in your day. But you had never flown in one.

By the time you had gotten used to the nauseating rumble of the ship- you weren’t sure, by the way, if all ships trembled as much as you did, and you were too afraid to ask- the Crest had already cleared the thin atmosphere and the Mandalorian was already punching in the destination codes. You hadn’t even gotten a chance to gather yourself together to risk a look down at the planet below you before you had left it behind. When you reflected back on it now, you were hit by an unfamiliar feeling- _sadness_. Why you were sad to leave Tatooine, you weren’t sure, maybe it was because it was the only home you had ever known… 

But Tatooine had been a harsh mother, a planet of tough love and even tougher memories. Yes, you shook your head now, better to leave it behind.

The kid looked up at you with large, pleading black eyes, and cooed. Every time you thought all of your softness had dried up, the kid wobbled towards you on shaky legs. Every time you caught yourself drifting towards thoughts of _before_ , he would cry out, reaching for you. You weren’t sure if he heard your nightmares, as you tossed and turned on the small cot in the hold of the ship, your brow clammy and your hands desperately gripping the sheets. If the thing had heard them, he hadn’t shown up to calm you, at least, not yet. He might not understand what you were saying, but the damn gremlin definitely picked up on your moods, and did what he could to make you feel better. 

At least, that was your theory. 

“Come on, thing,” you smiled, picking the child up and placing him in your lap. You reached down and took a roll of bonding tape from your pocket, giving it to the kid to hold. 

You stood up and propped the child on your hip, bouncing him back and forth. As he played with his newfound toy, you meandered over to the window of the ship and peered out onto the vast landscape of D’Qar. The Mandalorian had parked the Crest at the edge of a vast forest, looking out onto an expansive grassland plain and had disappeared into the trees, tracking fob in his hand.

His last words had been an order: “Stay put.” And then he vanished. 

That had been four days ago. He slunk into the forest, leaving you and the kid in an empty ship on an uninhabited planet. 

At first, you had been grateful. It had given you a chance to stand with the ramp to the ship open, staring slack-jawed at the most color you had ever seen in your life. Tatooine was a world of oranges and reds, pale anemic blue skies and an occasional cool lavender sunset. This world… this world was _green_. You knew the deep green of your childhood blanket, now long lost, and the green of the kid’s skin, but this was a lush green that you had never seen before. You had allowed yourself to venture slightly away from the ship, your blaster attached to your hip, the kid in your arms, and bent down into the grass, slipping it through your fingers. It marveled you. The plains rippled in the wind, a movement familiar to when the winds rolled over the sand dunes back home- only this time, all that you heard was a soft rustle, rather than the grit of sand being thrown in your face. You figured you could stay in the grasslands forever.

On the third day, you dared to pick some blades of grass, pressing them to your nose, hoping that they would smell like something. You were disappointed when you only smelled the grime on your own fingertips. Still, you brought the grass back with you into the ship, pressing the blades in between the pages of an old ship manual that you now tucked beneath your cot. Something in your heart told you that you couldn’t stay here forever, and you wanted to keep a memory of D’Qar with you.

Behind the ship, immense trees dominated the dense forest Mando had ventured into. You told yourself that you had to stay by the ship, you couldn’t explore the darkness of the trees and the vegetation, but in truth, something about the forest seemed foreboding. _Do not enter here_ , the trees whispered to you. At night, you held the kid close to your chest, the ramp to the ship decidedly closed, protecting you from the creatures you had invented in your mind that populated the forest. 

The kid’s cooing brought your attention back to reality. 

“That bastard better be back soon, hm?” you asked him, bouncing him on your hip. In reality, you were beyond pissed at the Mandalorian for leaving without a trace, without giving you a hint of an idea of when he would be back. You and the kid would spend eternity rotting on this ship, for all you knew.

You had been in the Mandalorian’s company for a week before he left, and yet you didn’t have any more insights into his personality. He took all of his meals alone in the cockpit with the door locked, presumably so that you wouldn’t see his face- not that you pried, you were more than happy to keep to yourself when needed. His presence in the ship was like a magnet to you- simultaneously pulling you to him on a subconscious level, but also repelling each other when you were in the same quarters. You danced around each other, only exchanging the most simple of pleasantries, usually revolving the kid or the status of the ship. Anything else would drive you to arguments. 

You came to the conclusion that he saw himself as better than you, as more moral somehow, as if a few pieces of Beskar and a creed made him a good person. You tried to ignore the inexplicable pull to him, the flush of your cheeks when he removed his armor and strolled around the ship in a long-sleeved shirt that revealed his lean figure. You tried to ignore the warmth in your stomach when your thoughts wandered to him at night, the familiar twang of lust that first hit you in your hut in Mos Eisley.

But when he had left, that lust had turned to cool anger. 

Admittedly, the first day had been nice with its silence, you had quickly grown bored of repairing the ship in solitude. You weren’t sure when you started talking to the kid, but now you couldn’t stop. It was better than talking to yourself all day- or worse, talking to droids like you had on Tatooine.

“We’re gonna have to have a chat with him,” you mused to the kid, “because you and I are going to go crazy if we’re kept on this ship forever by ourselves. Either that, or you’re going to have to start responding back to me.”

The kid smiled and cocked his head to the side. 

“No,” you hummed, “that might not be good either. I already won’t shut up, Mando might kill both of us if you start talking.”

A gurgling noise resembling something like “eh?” was all the goblin had to contribute.

“Hm, yes, very profound,” you nodded sarcastically, strolling through the hull of the ship to the open ramp. In the day, you enjoyed keeping the ramp open, feeling the cool breeze whip through the hold. Sometimes, you and the kid would sit at the edge of the ramp, dangling your legs over the side and enjoying the weather. Yes, you decided, this had to be your favorite planet. “I agree.”

“It’s definitely nice talking to you though,” you said to the kid. “Feel less lonely with you. You’re a good kid, you know that, right?” You reached forward and took the roll of tape out of the kid’s mouth, placing it back in his hands. “You have no idea how lonely it would get on that landing dock,” you chuckled, “especially since I couldn’t really talk to anyone around Mos Eisley, anyways. No one ever wanted to associate with me, which was why I kept to the foreigners. That’s just how life was as- well, as a nevermind,” you caught yourself quickly when you looked down at the kid and saw his big black eyes staring back up at you.

“Tell me, have you ever heard the story of Keojos and Ashllesl?” you asked quickly. It was a rhetorical question, as you didn’t expect the kid to answer. True to form, the gremlin looked up at you with a blank stare and lopsided smile. You pushed on. “Well, the story is old, older than you and me, it goes back before time itself,” you began. “As the story goes, _Keojos and Ashllesl were both Kumumgah people that lived on Tatooine when it was still full of life. All that sand used to be part of a great ocean, if you would believe it_ ,” you murmured to yourself. 

_“They were an advanced race, and Keojos quickly became a well respected leader of their village. Ashllesl had loved him since they were children, and it didn’t take long for them to become engaged. But Ashllesl, as much as she loved Keojos, had always wanted more from her life. She wanted to leave the village, to explore the vast oceans of the world around her. But Keojos loved her deeply, and it hurt him to see her want to leave.”_

You turned from the open door of the hold, walking to the back of the ship, where your cot lay. _“You see, Keojos was traditional. He never imagined any other future for himself other than what his fathers and forefathers had. And who would want anything different? The planet, at that time, was a paradise. At least, it was a paradise, until the technology of the Kumumgahs attracted outside attention.”_

“Sounds hard to believe.”

You whipped around when you heard the familiar voice at the entrance to the hold. The Mandalorian stood silhouetted against the fading light of the D’Qar sunlight, and he heaved a mass to the floor before leaning up against the wall of the ship. Maker, just seeing him again brought back your white-hot attraction to him. His presence immediately filled the space around you, and if it weren’t for your anger at being abandoned, you would have been more obliging towards his return.

“It’s about time you got back,” you hissed. The mood had been snapped, and you were back to yourself. Cold and angry. “You’ve been gone for four days.”

The Mandalorian heaved a sigh, audible to you even through the modulator of his helmet. Slowly, he removed his gun from his body, leaning it against the wall, before picking up the body of the quarry and shoving it into the carbonite chamber. 

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” you asked, attempting to keep your voice from going shrill. You placed the kid in his floating egg of a crib, balling your hands up into fists and pressing them to your sides.

“What do you want?” The Mandalorian responded brusquely.

“An explanation?”

The helmet turned to face you. Maybe you were inventing expressions, but you swore that he wore an accusing look while he stared at you. “For what? This is my job.”

“Next time,” you sighed, exasperated, “can you at least give us an idea of how long you’ll be gone?”

The Mandalorian paused, his shoulders squaring. He shuffled slightly- you knew that you had caught him in the wrong, and he knew it too. Although with the way he was, you doubted you were going to get an apology.

“That’s not your job. You stay here and don’t ask questions.”

You exhaled slowly, nodding your head. You had wanted an apology, but were now bracing yourself for a fight. If he wanted a fight, he was going to get a fight. His stubbornness was going to kill you. Or maybe it would push you to kill him. “Mando, I’ve been sitting here for four fucking days on a completely unknown planet, with only a green frog as company, attempting to repair your ship and not knowing whether you were dead or alive or if you would ever be coming back.”

“This is how I work.”

Stars, how easy it was to be cruel. How easy it was to reassume your defence mechanism, to protect yourself from the world around you, to lean into the harsh person that life had made you. It was easier to lash out, to be cruel to others instead of acknowledging the hurt and loneliness inside your own soul. How quick you were to rebuild your walls- only moments ago you had been content, telling the kid a story. Now, you were on a murderous rampage.

“You deserve to show me some fucking respect, Mando,” you cursed at him, finally fracturing. “Job or not, I deserve some basic fucking decency.”

Silence.

“You might have worked like this for stars-knows how long, but I’m your fucking co-pilot, and I deserve to know how long I should be waiting around. Like it or not, Mando, we’re part of this now. It’s not just you anymore.”

The Mandalorian stood up straight, securing the piece of carbonite in the hold before pushing a series of buttons on the wall, lifting the ramp from the ground. The hold was suddenly cast in low, artificial light, and his silence unnerved you. You wanted him to fight back, damn it, you wanted more than his one or two word responses, you wanted something you could work with. You wanted to _argue_ , damn it, you wanted an outlet for the frustration of the past few days. 

When he stalked towards you, his cape brushing at his ankles, attempting to sweep past you and up into the cockpit, you finally spat it out. When you reflected on it, you were shocked at your own cruelty.

“But, of course, what else would I expect from someone who kills for a few pieces of metal and hides behind a helmet? What kind of decency could I expect from someone like _you_ , Mandalorian?”

Before you knew it, you were pressed up against the wall of the ship. The Mandalorian’s gloved hand braced the column of your throat. Your jaw clenched- he wasn’t applying any pressure to his chokehold, his grip caused no pain, but you knew a warning when you saw one. When he held a blaster to you in your hut on Tatooine, you had felt a sense of elation, a feeling of victory. You had still felt in control. Here, on his ship, you were decidedly not in control. You knew you had crossed a line. 

His body leaned into you, his helmet only centimeters from your face, the planes of his armor on his chest pressing against your torso. Somehow, his knee had spread your legs, bracing himself in between you. You heard his breath coming through the modulator- deep pants, as if he was attempting to maintain control of his actions. If it had been any other situation, you would’ve indulged a fantasy of being pressed up against this wall by him again.

But instead, you narrowed your eyes at him. You waited for a comment, a cruel remark, something that would bite you as much as you had hurt him.

After a moment, he released his grip and turned from you. “We fly to Hosnian Prime next. Prepare for takeoff.”

You had decidedly lost the argument, you realized, although not without causing damage. You turned to the kid, who had watched the entire scene from his floating egg. You rubbed your throat thoughtfully as you watched the Mandalorian disappear into the cockpit, igniting the engines. Your heart tugged slightly and your mouth pulled into a frown. Part of you- not an insignificant part- the part of you that hadn’t been burned by the sand and the sun and your past, yearned to go to the man in the Beskar suit, to apologize for your comment that had been out of line. Your pride held you back.

Instead, you gathered the small green bug to your chest, enveloping him in a hug. The ship beneath your feet rumbled to life, a sensation that you still hadn’t gotten used to. “It’s ok, kid,” you said. “We’ll wear him down, yet.”

The kid looked up at you, his black eyes blinking slowly, as confused by the situation as you were. You brought him to the window as the ship lifted from the ground, sending the grassland into ripples. You hadn’t gotten the chance to say a proper goodbye to Tatooine, but you were determined to say goodbye to D’Qar.

Above you, unseen, the Mandalorian rested his head in his hands, the helmet suddenly seeming too heavy.


	5. superposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In any universe you are my dark star_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really do be posting these as i finish writing them, rather than holding out and waiting to post on a regular schedule like a normal person. not particularly sorry.

That night, you dreamed. 

You saw the glint of the Mandalorian’s helmet, the now familiar feeling of his body pressed against yours, the hard edges of his beskar digging into your skin. His weight pinned you to the wall of the ship, his hands gripping tightly to your hips. He was close to your ear, his words hushed, thick with desire. 

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he whispered through the modulator, dragging a finger along the waistband of your trousers, his knee pressing upwards against your sensitive center. “Always running that pretty fucking mouth of yours.”

His hands moved upwards, one cupping around the swell of your breast, the other thumb rubbing along the edge of your lips, pushing them open. You dared to softly bite the fabric of his glove, tilting your head up slightly to take him.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, “shut you up one way or another.”

His free hand massaged your breast over your shirt, migrating to pinch your nipple, admiring how it grew hard with his touch. He rolled it between his fingers, tugging slightly, chuckling when you gasped. Already you were growing wet between your legs, and you rocked your hips, grinding against his knee.

“You like that, huh?” he asked, his breath husky. His hand left your mouth to grip your other breast, mimicking his movements. Maker, how you wanted to kiss him, to feel the warmth of his mouth on yours, the sweet taste of him, to nip and suck at his lips. You wanted to feel the pressure of his lips on the column of your neck, where earlier he had rested his hand. You wanted him to leave his mark on you in every way, you longed to lace your fingers through his hair, to hold you close to him. But mostly, you wanted to feel him inside you, to be pressed up against the wall and fucked thoroughly and completely until you were broken open by him, and only him.

He looked up at you suddenly. “What,” he mocked, “nothing to say now? Use your words, honey.” He pressed you further into the wall, the warmth of his body oppressive, his cock hard against your hip. 

“Tell me what you want.” 

A hand slipped into your trousers, creeping downwards, downwards, to the one area where you longed for his touch. His gloves were gone, and you bucked your hips to him as he got closer to your clit, only for him to move his hand at the last moment. You let out a whine from deep in your throat.

“Tell me.” A command, an order.

“I- I want you to touch me,” you whisper, you plead. 

His fingers spread, exploring the warmth of your folds, feeling your wetness. “You’re already soaked through,” he breathed. “You want t-this?” a finger reached forward, finally pressing against your sensitive clit, winding it slowly in a circle. 

Your body nearly jerked in response to his touch, slow and methodical. You panted against his neck, as much as you’re able as he’s pressed against you. You know- you just innately know- that he was going to take his sweet time with this. You wanted to rock your body into his hand, to press your aching cunt against his palm, to bring yourself sweet relief, but instead, his finger worked your clit at an agonizingly slow rate.

“More,” you whispered, breathless. “I need more.”

“T-too easy,” he looked up at you, and you see in that moment how much this is turning him on. To see you withering against him, to deny you pleasure. He was in control, he had the authority that you had so long denied him, and he liked it. “Beg for it.”

“Please,” you whispered, your cheeks flushing red. “P-please, Mando. I need you. I… I need to feel you.”

He cocked his head to the side, and you swore you could see a smirk behind the helmet. His fingers dove into your folds, collecting your wetness, before he suddenly sunk two fingers deep inside you. You gasped at his action, desperately tilting your pelvis towards him, aching to feel all of him… 

“F-Fuck… Mando...”

The cruelest moment was when you woke up. 

You could have screamed in frustration, your center throbbing with desire. You swore you felt the ghost of his touch on you, but in the darkness of the ship, you realized you were cruelly, desperately alone. You squeezed your legs together, clamping your eyes closed, vainly attempting to return to the dream, to the pleasure you felt, to the feeling of giving over completely and letting him have his way with you…

Your hands travelled across your body under the covers. They dipped under the waistband of your skimpy sleeping shorts, lightly breezing over your sensitive bud. You were wet, the dream had activated lust that had laid dormant in you for stars-know how long. You moaned softly, arching your back as you began the familiar routine of touching yourself. It was no adequate substitute for his touch, or at least the fantasy of his touch, but you recalled the already-fading memory of the dream, his breathlessness, his desire, his demands. 

“Fuck,” you whispered into the darkness. You dipped a finger into your cunt and sighed, wishing that it was his cock instead. In the anonymity of the darkened ship in the middle of hyperspace, you allowed yourself to shamelessly fantasize of the Mandalorian, to touch yourself with thoughts of him in your mind. In your dream, you said you had needed him. As you wound yourself up to the heights of pleasure, you had to think that maybe you did need him, for this at least. How much better it would be with a man, rather than by yourself. 

You felt the wave building, and began working your clit harder, bucking your hips. Your face contorted with pleasure, and it took everything in your body to not cry out when the wave reached its crest. Your knees locked together as your body shook, and you turned your head to bite your pillow to keep silent. You rode the waves of passion, imagining the sweetness of his kiss, the caress of his hands on your hips, the presence of his body between your legs. You had ached for release, but you realized that you ached for him.

Your face grew hot in the night as you withdrew your hands from your shorts and rolled over to your side. You were able to satisfy your lust for the moment… but how long would that last?

### 

The next morning, you were almost embarrassed to bring food up to the cockpit where the Mandalorian sat, navigating the ship out of hyperspace. You hadn’t spoken since the argument the day before, and a cloud hung over the energy of the ship. Even the kid was quieter than usual. 

You hesitantly stepped into the cockpit, holding the plate in front of you. The Mandalorian took it without a word- not that you expected him to say anything. You turned towards the door and stopped. No, you knew that to resolve this, you would have to be the one to apologize. 

“Mando,” you said quietly, turning back to face him. His gaze hadn’t left you, and you wished you could know the expression he was wearing beneath the visor. “Listen…” you stammered. “I don’t apologize often- or, well, I… I guess I’ve never seen a reason to.” You leaned against the doorframe and folded your hands in front of you. “I’m sorry for what I said yesterday. It was out of line.”

The Mandalorian sat there in silence.

“I respect you,” you said, hoping he could see how much this was costing you. To let the walls down, even for a moment, to reveal just a scrap of vulnerability, went against everything you knew and held dear. “And I respect your creed. But you need to respect me,” your voice hardened again. “You don’t need to tell me anything that goes against your oath. But you should tell me how long you’ll be gone.”

Silence.

You nodded slowly, taking a shaky breath. Silence it was, then. “Ok, then.”

“We’ll be dropping out of hyperspace in a few minutes,” he said finally. Nothing in his voice betrayed any emotion- he was just as cool and calculating as he always was. Part of you had wanted to hear an apology from his end, but perhaps that was as unrealistic as it had been for him to expect an apology from you. “We should secure everything for landing.”

You nodded, descending from the cockpit. Above, you heard the shutting of the door and the thick clunk of the bolt locking it. Fine, you thought to yourself, let him eat before we land. It’s fine. You tucked away a burning ember of irritation, a lingering feeling of entitlement, and hoped that you would keep your cool until he landed the ship and left for his next quarry. Then, you hoped, you could delve into the rewiring of the hyperdrive and work out all your frustration.

The kid sat in his egg, babbling away. You looked in and saw that he was still playing with the roll of bonding tape, and you gave him a small smile. 

“Well, kid, what do you think of seeing a new planet? What do you think this one will be like?”

The goblin merely cocked his head at you and twitched his oversized ears.

“I don’t know either,” you said, picking him up and resting him on your hip. As the ship dropped out of hyperspace, you walked over to the window and peered out at the planet.

Hosnian Prime was a planet of light. At least, that was your first impression. The planet seemed to glow like a great, spherical glow-rod. As the ship began to sink in the atmosphere, you quickly realized that the planet didn’t glow, it was actually just one large, all-encompassing city. You suddenly felt terrified- D’Qar was easy to adjust to, easy to be alone, since you knew that there was nobody else on the planet. It was easy to look out on the grasslands, watch the sunset, bask in the greenery. Hosnian Prime was the exact opposite, and you felt your stomach churn with nerves. You would be alone… _here?_

The Mandalorian skillfully navigated the Crest to a landing pad, and with its characteristic heaving sigh, you felt the ship’s engines shut and the rumbling under your feet cease. 

“Stay here,” you heard the Mandalorian speak up from behind you. 

You watched as he crossed the hold, strapping his gun to his back with an effortless ease. You swallowed thickly as you processed what that would entail. Certainly you couldn’t leave the hold door open like you had on D’Qar.

“Don’t venture outside the ship,” the Mandalorian said under his breath, taking a step towards you. “Too many people.”

You nodded earnestly. That, at least, you agreed with. You subconsciously clutched the kid closer to your chest as the Mandalorian paused, glancing around the hold, as if confused. Your eyebrow raised, questioning him. After a moment, he took a hesitant step forward, reaching forward and taking your hand. His gloved fingers unclenched your fist and pressed an e-comm device into your palm. You looked up at him expectantly, surprise written on your face. The only other time he had touched you was when his hand was around your throat. You brushed the thought out of your head- you didn’t need a repeat of last night.

“For emergencies,” he said quickly, under his breath. “If you need to reach me.”

You pursed your lips, your heart soaring. You nodded, glancing down at the kid. Emergency clearly meant if he was in danger- the kid comes first, you reminded yourself.

Silence. And yet he still wasn’t leaving. You stood in front of him, mimicking his tactic from earlier. You certainly didn’t have anything to say to him, so you wondered why he was stalling… because he was clearly stalling.

“I shouldn’t be long,” he said at last. “Deadline’s coming up.”

“Deadline?”

He ignored your question. “Thirty-six hours.” The helmet lifted, locking its gaze with yours. “After that, if I’m not back, use the e-comm and fly to me.”

“Mando, I don’t know how to fly.”

“You’re a mechanic,” he deadpanned.

“A mechanic,” you sighed, exasperated, “not a pilot.”

“What kind of mechanic doesn’t know how to fly?” You could hear the incredulity in his voice, the unravelling of his plan at the seams. 

“I never got the chance to learn, ok!” you snapped back. “Once people got their ship working again, they quickly left. Can’t say I didn’t blame them.”

Maker, you could practically hear his eyes rolling in that tin can of a helmet. He sighed, long and slow. 

“I’ll be back in thirty-six hours. And if I’m not, call me through the comm. If I don’t respond… you and the kid get on the first ship out of here.”

Stars, you so desperately wanted to mock him for his overdramatics, his backup plan after backup plan, but you held back. He was giving you what you wanted: some kind of security, some knowledge that he would come back. And if he didn’t, a plan of what to do to save your own skin. Your stomach lurched at the idea of being truly and completely alone on this planet-city, and you looked hastily down at your boots to avoid looking at the Mandalorian.

“What’s wrong?”

You glanced back up at him, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment that he could see so easily through you. “Nothing,” you said quickly, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. “Thank you, for the comm. It means a lot.”

The Mandalorian gave a quick nod- a dip of his helmet, nothing more to acknowledge your statement. He pulled a tracking fob from his pocket, the tiny red light flashing as he pushed a button, opening the ramp of the ship to the landing pad.

“Thirty-six hours,” he repeated. “And don’t leave the ship.”

And then, once more, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, and i finally have an idea of where i'm going to take this


	6. poison & wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You only know what I want you to_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: a short chapter this time, but I already have the next one completed, and it's over twice as long as a usual chapter, so bear with me!

You hadn’t known it then, but from that moment on, you would begin counting the hours, the days, the minutes until the Mandalorian would return to the ship. 

Hosnian Prime continued to spook you. You didn’t like the lights, the constant noise, the continual hum of people and droids and creatures and ships that seemed to spiral around the Crest in a tornado of activity. There was a certain hustle to Mos Eisley that you were used to, a languid pace of business and bounty hunters and Jawas and sandstorms that lulled you to sleep over the years- this… this was decidedly different. The entire planet seemed to vibrate under your feet. You checked, and double checked, and triple checked that the doors to the Crest were locked and guarded before settling down with the kid to sleep. 

The child had looked up at you with his wide eyes as a large freight ship rumbled past the landing dock, sending beams of light in through the windows. You rolled over with him, away from the light, and attempted to get a few hours of sleep.

The child noticed how you slept fitfully, twitching throughout the darkness. He couldn’t see the nature of your nightmares, but he sensed your distress, and in the early hours of the pale blue morning, lifted a green hand to your forehead. Your brow unfurrowed and your body relaxed. A deep inhale, and a relaxed grip on his cloak. The child nestled down in your arms and finally shut his own eyes.

When you bolted awake to the sound of a clang, you wanted to kill everyone and everything outside the Crest. You were always cranky and displeased when you didn’t sleep well, but the activity of Hosnian Prime set you on edge. You glanced down at the e-comm next to you- eight hours left. You wrinkled your nose and yawned, stretching up towards the ceiling, careful not to wake the sleeping gremlin next to you. Eight hours and you would be gone, far away from this hellish planet. No, you decided, as much as you appreciated D’Qar, you equally never wanted to go back to Hosnian Prime. Core worlds, perhaps, weren’t to your taste. Perhaps you were just used to the backwater planets of the Outer Rim.

As you stretched, you lifted your arms up, suddenly encountering the sudden yet familiar tang of your own sweat.

Stars, you _stank_. You sighed deeply. What you wouldn’t give for a shower…

You stopped, thinking. The Mandalorian had to have a shower somewhere on this ship, it wasn’t like he went cruising around the galaxy exploring public bathing houses. Not with that helmet of his. Silently, you got up from the bed, placing the child delicately in his floating egg and closing the hood over him. You hazarded a glance towards the ship door- you still had eight hours, what would the Mandalorian know if you went snooping around for a shower? It’s not like you were going to stumble upon him without his armor. He wasn’t even aboard. 

You softly padded through the hull of the ship, feeling like you were somehow doing something wrong. When you finally reached the end of a corridor, all that remained were two unknown doors. You glanced inside the door to your right, slightly ajar, and saw a haphazardly made narrow cot shoved against the wall. You swallowed thickly, desperately wanting to go inside, to explore, to see a shadow of a personality you had yet to discover. You yearned to see what the Mandalorian’s private bunk had to offer. You could see well worn blankets, a thin pillow, a single light hanging from the ceiling. But mostly, the lack of items told you all that you needed to know- this was not an area of the ship he frequented. You wouldn’t be surprised if he spent more time sleeping in the cockpit chair than he did in this room. Silently, you reached forward and closed the door. 

You told him that you would respect his creed. You weren’t going to pry, to try and find answers to questions unasked, and unwarranted. 

So you were relieved that the door to your left was the shower. Hesitantly, you peered back behind you. Yes, you could still see the door to the ship, and the e-comm in your hand flashed its steady, red light at you. All clear. And you still had eight hours left. The kid’s cradle lingered beside you, and when you were certain that it was shut, you began shedding clothes. 

You dropped them to the floor and stepped into the shower, leaving the door cracked slightly ajar so you could still see the cradle and see the door to the ship. That, at least, would grant you a bit of security. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

_Now, what were all these knobs for…_

On Tatooine, all you had to do to start the ultrasonic shower was press a button. You were decidedly out of your element. But you shivered in the cold and your nakedness, so you reached forward and turned both knobs at the same time.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for what you encountered. In fact, the very last thing you expected from this was to feel water. You clamped a hand over your mouth to keep from shrieking in delight. Even now, you couldn’t refrain from dancing. _Is this what happiness was?_ You wondered. You peered up at the spout above you, running your hands over your hair, feeling for the first time the amount of grime and soot washing off you. It felt decadent, to use this much water only to bathe. It seemed wrong, sacreligious, to use something so precious for something so wasteful.

“Stars,” you whispered, closing your eyes, your back turned to the door. This was fucking _bliss_. You parted your lips, allowing the water to cascade over your face, to run down your body, to nestle into crooks and crevices in your skin that had only ever known sand and dryness. You felt like a sponge. In fact… screw D’Qar, you could live in this shower forever.

“The cleansing powder won’t work,” you mused to yourself, whispering. You were shocked at how the water sprayed against your skin, and you watched rivulets stream down your body. You rubbed your arms, feeling the moisture, the slick feeling of your skin.

You had left the shower door cracked slightly in order to ensure that you could watch for intruders. And yet, as you stood in the magical shower, you were lost to yourself. You couldn’t discern what planet you were on, let alone why you would be watching the door to the ship. You cupped your hands in front of you, letting the water pool in your palms. There were no words. You almost jumped six feet in the air when you heard the familiar voice behind you.

“What are you doing?”

Aware of your nakedness, his proximity outside the shower door, and the crack of visibility that he was permitted, you refused to turn around. The Mandalorian saw nothing but the upper region of your back- the rest of you obscured in shadows, shadows, he thought, that were decidedly unfair, hiding you away from him.

You rolled your eyes. Of course he had to come back when you were attempting to be secretive. Perhaps he had a sensor in that stupid helmet of his that could tell when you were beginning to enjoy yourself, so that he would know when to ruin it. He was beginning to develop this annoying habit of turning up unannounced when you were showering. Two times didn’t make a pattern, but it did make for a frustrating coincidence. 

“What does it look like I’m doing, Mando? Dancing?”

You heard the exasperated sigh over the rush of the water. “Where’s the kid?”

You closed your eyes, letting the water run over your face. “Asleep in the crib.” You didn’t have the energy, or the mood, to fight with him. Try as he might, he wasn’t going to ruin this moment for you. “Your shower has water, Mando. Did you know that?”

He paused, and then you heard it. A laugh. A small chuckle that echoed through the modulator of the helmet. “Yes,” he said, his voice light. “I know.”

“What did you have to do to get a shower with water?” you asked.

“Most showers use water,” he said.

You peered over your shoulder and caught a glimpse of him through the door. Surely that couldn’t be right. “Really?” you whispered, barely able to believe it.

The Mandalorian only nodded at you. A small glint of his helmet in the light of the hull of the ship outside you gave you an indication of his actions.

“Well,” you huffed, turning back to run your hands over your hair, “I’m never going back to an ultrasonic shower again.”

There was that silence again. That silence that you were beginning to become accustomed to, no longer feeling like you had to fill in his voids with words of your own, allowing yourself to exist in comfortable emptiness with the man in the suit of armor. You let the water rush over you, more than willing to tune him out.

“The bottle on the right.”

“What?” you peered over your shoulder at him.

“Use the bottle on your right for your hair.”

His voice was soft, gentle, gentler than you had ever heard it before. You took the bottle hesitantly and squeezed a foreign purple substance into the palm of your hand before glancing back out at him.

“What do I do with it?” Part of you hated how small your voice sounded, how you seemingly didn’t know what to do, how you had to rely on someone else for help. But your stomach tied up into knots when you considered the particulars of this, of the Mandalorian being nice to you. Of not just being nice, but being accommodating, of being helpful.

“Put it in your hair,” he said slowly. “Use your fingers to comb it through. It’ll clean it. And then wash it out.”

He watched as best as he could through the crack in the door as you attempted to follow his directions. You couldn’t see him smile under his helmet. You couldn’t sense his urge to remove his gloves, to work the product into your hair himself. When you stepped under the water stream, parting your lips and letting the water wash through your hair, you could’ve never known his desire to lift your chin up to him, to run his hands over your slick body.

“Now what?”

“The other soap,” he mentioned, barely a whisper. 

“Is that also for my hair?”

“No.”

“Oh,” you swallowed, “ok.”

The Mandalorian seemed to snap back to attention, because when he next spoke, the usual edge to his voice had returned. “I’ll wait for you to finish before starting the ship. Come to the cockpit when you’re done.”

You didn’t have to turn around to know that he had left you. You partially deflated in his absence- for a moment, things had almost been cordial, almost intimate, in his conversation with you. He had every right to be angry with you for snooping around where you shouldn’t, to be using his things on his ship without his permission, but instead, he was… kind. You rubbed the bar of soap in your hands, marvelling at the bubbles it produced, and set about washing your body. You felt years of sweat dissolve away from you, and you closed your eyes, imagining that you were scrubbing away the last remnants of Tatooine, or your old life, of what had happened on that stars-forsaken planet on the Outer Rim. You were standing under a stream of water, for Maker’s sake, what could’ve been further from Tatooine than this? The soap smelled vaguely of spices that you had seen hawked in the markets of Mos Eisley, deep and earthy and masculine. 

An intrusive thought: _was this what he smelled like?_

You would’ve spent an eternity in the shower, if you didn’t know Mando was waiting in the cockpit above you. Still, it took an immense show of willpower to finally shut the water, to see the remnants flow down the drain. You wrung out your hair- it was all that occurred to you to do to avoid spreading water all over the floor of his ship.

And when you opened the shower door completely, you discovered a towel sitting on the floor. 

### 

“Well, did you get the quarry?”

The Mandalorian swiveled around in his pilot’s chair to see you climb into the cockpit, dressed in a baggy set of cargo pants and a thin long-sleeved top. The towel was still wrapped around your shoulders- you didn’t know what to do with the unfamiliarity of your wet hair, and you were afraid of getting anything else on the ship wet. That, you believed, was the one downside of water showers. 

The Mandalorian nodded slowly. You sat down in the chair next to him, pulling your knees up to your chest. 

“So where are we off to next?”

“Nevarro.”

You nodded, as if you had any idea of where that was. “And what was this guy? Another smuggler?”

Mando shook his head. “Murderer.” He reached down and procured a piece of paper from somewhere, handing it to you. You took it hesitantly, unfolding it. The face of a disgruntled Rodian peered up at you, along with a large number of credits written in large print at the bottom. 

“A wanted poster?” you asked, your brow furrowing. Those were unusual. Bounty hunting was an underground trade, a secret trade, one that shouldn’t be advertised on this populated of a planet.

The Mandalorian kicked the ship to life, the engine rumbling underneath you. You paid close attention, hearing the pops and whistles that told you that it was due for another check once you reached Nevarro. You sighed and rolled your eyes, leaning back into the chair. At this rate, the Crest was going to be made more of bonding tape than metal.

“Going to fucking kill Karga,” he muttered under his breath, pulling a lever towards him. “A damn wanted poster.”

You felt the ship begin to move, and felt the familiar surge of nerves that accompanied flying. You didn’t ask who- or what- Karga was, you knew that you would learn in due time. That was the thing with the Mandalorian, you had learned. The truth would always come out eventually. 

“No sarcastic comment today?”

You glanced up from the wanted poster and saw the helmet directed at you. You rolled your eyes and scoffed at him. “Not currently,” you replied, your voice dripping with derision. “Check back when I’m in a better mood.”

“Won’t take long.”

The corner of your lip turned up in a small smile. You couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but something about your interactions with him had changed. You were willing to bet that it rested with the e-comm he had pressed to your palm the day before. You felt your shell begin to crack in front of him, ever so slightly. You weren’t sure how long this mood was going to last. Maybe he was right- maybe you would be back to your usual bitchy self before you next docked. You were still running off the high of the shower, though, and really couldn’t be bothered to argue with him, even if he was trying to pick a fight. You folded up the wanted poster and shoved it into your pocket- it would make a nice addition to the ship’s manual under your cot, where you kept blades of D’Qar grass pressed between its thin pages. 

You heard the kid begin to fuss as he woke up, and you stood up to remove yourself from the cockpit.

“As long as we get off this miserable planet, I really don’t care what you say.”

As if in an answer, Mando hit the thrusters, sending the ship hurtling through the atmosphere.


	7. too dry to cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _No, don't leave me hanging like a spider with no fly_

“Just… follow my lead.”

Mando was exasperated. You saw the way his gaze dragged over the hull of the ship, his movements slow and lethargic, as if he was delaying his actual departure. He paid special attention to the kid, ensuring that he was firmly tucked in his crib, and pulled blankets around the kid’s sides. When he was finally content that the child was secured, he pushed a button and closed the lid on the floating egg.

“I don’t see why we have to go,” you grumbled, hastily zipping up your jacket. In truth, you were excited to get off the ship, you were beginning to go slightly stir crazy, particularly after your essential quarantine on Hosnian Prime, but something about Mando’s attitude was… different. Unsettling, even.

Mando turned to look at you. His gaze was pointed, focused. “He needs to see that the kid’s with me.”

“So why do I need to go?” you were dangerously close to stomping your foot in impatience. You finally had a chance to get off the ship, yet you would be chained to the Mandalorian’s side for a business meeting. It all seemed painfully unfair.

“Because I said so.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Because I said so? Stars, Mando…”

“Because I’d kill you before I left you on my ship alone? Because you shouldn’t be wandering around a dangerous planet you don’t know by yourself? Because Karga has eyes and ears all over this fucking city? Take your pick.”

You shifted your weight onto your back foot, crossing your arms over your chest. You read through him easily. He wanted all of the chips in front of him, and he wanted to make sure there weren’t any loose ends that he had left untied, he wanted to know that everything was taken care of before he entered into negotiations. The sentiment should have left you feeling warm and fuzzy- because, in essence, he _was_ caring about you and your safety… instead, it made you feel like an unwanted piece of luggage. Something he had to lug around with him to make sure that it didn’t get lost. 

And you would have fought him on it, too, if it hadn’t been for the underlying statement, the one that remained unsaid: _Because it’s fucking dangerous, that’s why_. Between that and the fact that you could see him visibly uneasy, you decided that perhaps, just this once, you would cut him some slack.

So you sighed and rolled your eyes again, because you couldn’t let him know that you were taking it easy on him. “Fine,” you huff. “Let’s get this over with.”

You brushed past him, not before he reached out and grabbed your wrist, spinning you around to face him once more. He held you close to his chest, his helmet hovering only inches away from yours. Your body tensed, immediately shifting into fight-or-flight, ready for a confrontation if he started it.

“I’m serious,” he whispered. “Don’t try anything, and follow my lead. Don’t run your mouth.”

You whipped your wrist out of his grasp. “Stars, Mando, I get the point. Let’s just fucking _go_ , already.”

### 

By the time you reached the cantina, you were still trying to discern your opinion on Nevarro. It was too similar to Tatooine, you had decided. The harsh sands of Tatooine were replaced with rich, dark, volcanic soil, but the effect was still the same. Everything was one-note: the sky was grey, the buildings grey, the earth dark black. The only difference between Nevarro and Tatooine was the distinct humidity in the air that came from the volcanoes echoing in the distance. For that, at least, it ranked above Tatooine.

The cantina was equally dark. It reminded you of the cantina in Mos Eisley, although you had never visited the bar when you lived there. You preferred to do your drinking alone, unbothered, not having to worry about your safety if you had too much. It was a safety thing more than anything else. The hum of conversation paused slightly when the Mandalorian entered, and you hung slightly behind him, accompanying the kid’s floating egg. Perhaps Mando was right… in this instance, maybe you should let him take the lead.

“Mando!”

You followed Mando towards a robust man with dark skin sitting in a corner booth. At his gesture, you slid into the booth first, leaving Mando on the outside, the egg floating by his shoulder.

“Always glad to see you and the kid in one piece. And who’s this?” the man turned to you, fixating his dark eyes on you, glancing up and down in a way that made you feel appreciated, yet entirely too seen. 

“Karga,” Mando started, folding his hands in front of him on the table. “What’s my next job?”

“Mando,” Greef Karga leaned back in the booth, resting his hands on his stomach, smiling widely. His gaze still hadn’t left you. “Always so quick to get to business. Stay for a minute, and tell me about your new _business associate_.” He snapped his fingers and a droid dashed over to the table, setting down several small glasses of alcohol.

The Mandalorian sat silent, and your eyebrows lifted slightly. You rolled your eyes and extended your hand to Karga, introducing yourself.

“I’m the mechanic,” you explained as Karga shook your hand.

“I see,” Karga nodded knowingly. “Well, it’s about time, that ship has been falling apart for years.”

Mando still sat silently. You were used to his silences, but now, with someone else, they were striking you as rudeness. You wanted to perk him up, to bring out that shred of personality that you had only begun to see… but mostly, to help ease some of the edge off him.

You reached forward and took a glass of alcohol, smiling at Karga when he took a glass as well.

“To decaying ships, and the pretty mechanics that fix them,” Karga toasted, winking at you before tossing his glass back.

You gave a small chuckle, your cheeks flushing. You threw your head back and took the alcohol in one sip, feeling the familiar burn as it slid down your throat as you turned to face Mando. He still hadn’t moved, and looked at you and Karga as if he was ready to walk out of the cantina.

“Are you ready to give me my next pucks now?” he asked brusquely.

Karga rolled his eyes. You giggled slightly, warm from the alcohol- you knew that feeling, that complete exasperation at Mando for ignoring everything else but business. 

“Is he always this moody?” Karga asked.

“Always,” you laughed.

A droid brought another round of drinks to the table, and you and Karga slammed them back. Stars, you thought, it was nice to be speaking to someone that actually enjoyed living, that spoke in more than one syllable, who was willing to actually _act human_. You thought you could handle Mando because of all the years you had spent living on your own. Perhaps you had missed human company more than you expected. 

“There was a fucking wanted poster on Hosnian Prime,” Mando whispered, leaning forward onto the table.

Karga shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “The puck had been out for awhile. We weren’t sure if you were coming back, and figured we could advertise in other ways. It’s not personal.”

“I want to know that I’m not competing with anyone else for this next round,” he hissed, his voice low.

“Look, Mando,” he spread his hands out wide, “you’re my best guy. But sometimes we need to get creative.”

“No posters.”

Karga waved his hand non-committedly. 

“No. Posters.”

“Fine, Mando,” he finally sighed, “but your deadline just got shorter.”

Karga turned back to you. “You know, if you ever get sick of this one, I’m sure we can find some employment for a mechanic like you. They’re always hard to find in this part of the Outer Rim, and they’re never half as pretty as you are.”

“Karga,” Mando hissed, slamming his palm down on the table, “my fucking pucks.”

Karga waved his hand, pulling out a handful of credits and four new tracking fobs. “Alright, alright,” he sighed, “I’m already having droids remove the carbonite from the ship. These should keep you busy for awhile... although it would be a shame to keep you away for so long,” he said to you.

The Mandalorian leaned forward and swiped the tracking fobs and credits out of Karga’s grip. 

“Well then,” you smiled, leaning forward. The alcohol had sufficiently warmed you, made it easier to smile and bat your eyelashes and do what you knew how to do when it came to men. “It’ll just make it even nicer when I come back.”

Mando scoffed from behind his helmet, giving your wrist a tug so that you would follow him as he slid out of the booth. You winked at Karga and took the shot that Mando hadn’t accepted, knocking it back before following Mando as he got up. 

“Come back soon,” he smiled at you, “take care of the kid, Mando!”

You slid out of the cantina with Mando, walking on air. You could’ve drank Karga under the table, but Mando certainly didn’t know that. In fact, you were quite amused with Mando’s associate, and the alcohol certainly helped take the edge off of the business meeting… for you, anyways. Mando stalked ahead of you, still silent. You hung back with the floating egg as you meandered through the streets of the city. 

Even when you reached the ship, Mando hadn’t said a word to you. Your frustration with him was growing- his impoliteness in the cantina, his constant stand-offishness, the never-ending feeling like you were begging to be heard by him, to be taken seriously by him. Maybe you would take up Karga’s offer to stay on Nevarro. But as you watched the tall figure clad in Beskar stalk into the ship, you realized the futility of those ideas. 

You would follow him throughout the galaxy, you realized. Even if it killed you. Even if you killed him.

It was only when he had closed the ramp to the ship, casting the hull in darkness, that your frustration finally broke. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” you asked. “You can’t be nice to the fucking guy? He’s paying you after all.”

Still, he stayed silent, unstrapping his rifle and placing it against the wall.

“Would it _kill_ you to be polite?”

“Didn’t need to, you were nice enough for both of us,” he muttered.

Your stomach flipped at the word _us_. “What does that mean?” you asked, accusingly. 

“You were flirting.” A growl, low in his throat bubbled up to the surface.

“Ah,” you sighed, cocking your head at him. A grin rose to your lips. So _that_ was it, then. An eyebrow raised. Your stomach twisted into knots, and you couldn’t resist toying with him, pushing a button or two, seeing where this sentiment had come from. “And what if I was?” 

You had decidedly _not_ been flirting with Karga, but if the Mandalorian believed you were… then you wanted to find out why. And you wanted to find out why he seemingly cared. 

The helmet snapped your way to look at you. You hadn’t done anything wrong, except for maybe refusing to keep silent. And he should’ve known not to expect silence from you. He should’ve known better than to expect obedience. 

“Then that would be a mistake,” he said, his voice low.

“Is that a threat?”

He stepped towards you, crossing the hull with a striking amount of ease. You backed up with him, your spine pressed up against the metal of the ship before you even noticed. “It’s a warning,” he growled.

“What are you going to do about it?” The daring question left your mouth before you even considered the weight of its words, the charge of the energy radiating off him, his proximity to you. 

“You think he’s just some _nice guy_?” he whispered, his voice barely coming through the modulator. “He’d just offer you something, expecting nothing in return?”

His hands came forward and gripped at your hips, anchoring you to the wall. You jerked your chin up at his contact, eyebrows furrowing and eyes narrowing. He squeezed for a moment, as if daring you to tell him no, waiting for you to draw the line in your relationship that barricaded his actions. You refused to tell him no. How different this was from the last time he had you pinned up against this wall... the animosity was still there, yes, but you were glad that his hands were on the waistband of your pants rather than on your neck, his thumb running along the hemline of your shirt, lifting it slightly, running over your bare skin. 

“You’re really so desperate that you’d fuck him?” he hissed the words, red hot and piping. 

You cocked your head and rolled your eyes. “What’s my alternative?” you asked, faking sincerity, “you?” 

He growled, a low rumble in his throat that even the helmet couldn’t disguise. In a flash, his hands left your hips, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. Stars, your knees felt weak, your heart fluttered, and you were aware of the growing heat in between your legs. How many nights had you dreamed of this? How many times had you touched yourself in the dead night of the interspace darkness, thinking of his weight pressed up against you?

So you pushed him further.

“You should be so lucky.”

You gasped at how fast he moved. He flipped you around, pressing your chest into the cold metal, his body pressed up against you. You arched to feel him- and you already felt him. You grinned at the feeling of his cock pressing into the soft flesh of your ass. You knew you had him. What you didn’t expect was the sudden sound of ripping fabric, your vision obscured as he tied something around your head. A hiss and a clunk, the sound of heavy metal hitting the floor. His hands came around and cupped your breasts as he pressed his body into you, trapping you against the wall. You let out another gasp when you felt the softness of lips press against your neck, the harsh nip of teeth.

The helmet was off. 

“You arrogant piece of-”

He flipped you back around, his hands squeezing your breasts, his hips rocking into you. He continued to nibble on the skin of your neck as your hands reached around to his back, pulling him in close to you. Your legs parted, inviting him to slot in between you, to close the gaps, to press closer to where you needed him most.

A trapped sound escaped your throat when he bit the spot under your jawline. Your hands moved from his back to his head, winding your fingers in his hair and yanking him up to you. With the scarf tied over your eyes, you couldn’t see where he was located, but you felt his speed, you sensed his want, almost as much as you needed him. It was bubbling inside you, manifesting itself as you grew wetter and wetter. Every sense was heightened without your sight, and you were keenly aware of how much you needed him, longed for him.

When you finally pulled him close to you and kissed him, it was all teeth and tongue. You set out to devour each other, his hands frantic, skimming over the planes of your body, yanking your shirt up and over your head. You reached down and palmed his straining cock from over his pants, and he rocked into your hand. 

“Won’t fuck me, hm?” he asked, pulling away from you slightly. He was breathless, his voice panting with need and desire. “Fucking liar.”

“Don’t take it personally,” you snapped back, skimming your thumb over his jawline, dipping your head down and harshly nipping at his neck, using your hand to tear at his shirt collar, exposing skin that you couldn’t see. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, his hand tweaking your nipple and moving down, down, tugging at the waistband of your pants. He paused slightly, his hands lifting from your skin, but his hips pressed into yours, anchoring you in place. He attacked your mouth again, coaxing your lips open to take him, sliding his tongue deftly in, exploring you. When he next touched you, you felt the softness of his skin, the lightness of his fingertips. He slid his hand under your waistband, brushing past your underwear, desperately seeking your center. You gasped at his actions, suddenly as breathless as he was, removing your lips from his skin and resting your head against the hull of the ship when he finally reached his destination. 

“So fucking wet,” he mumbled, tracing his fingers in between your folds. You bucked your hips into him and his mouth came to yours, distracting you only momentarily as his middle finger pressed against your clit, rolling it slowly, languid.

Here, and only here, his movements slowed. Just as in your dream, he was calculated. Your eyes screwed shut with his touch and your pelvis angled to him, begging silently for more of his touch, more movement, faster, faster, _more_. Your breaths came in pants as he wound you up, and he pulled away from you, a hand coming around the back of your neck, holding you upright against the wall.

“Should fucking see yourself,” he said, his voice husky. His movements stopped, and you whined slightly. The absence of movement was _excruciating_. You could picture yourself, partially clothed, the Mandalorian completely in control. He said it to embarrass you- it only turned you on more instead. 

“Gonna keep flirting with other men?”

You swallowed thickly, shaking your head. “No,” you whispered, reaching forward and grabbing his clothes in your fists. “No, please,” you pleaded, feeling his fingers begin their movement again, dipping, lower… “more…”

You cried out when he finally sunk two fingers into your cunt. You spread your legs further, opening your knees for him, your lips parting as he slid his fingers out slowly before plunging them into you again. His movements were slow, controlled, his fingers curling upwards and reaching somewhere deep inside you, somewhere _devastating_ inside you, his thumb coming forward and swirling circles around your clit. His head hung above you, and you realized as your breath came in short pants, that he enjoyed watching you like this. He wanted to see you come on his hand. The visual, the thought of it, sent a white hot pang of lust coursing through your veins. 

You started to buck your hip against his hand, desperate for more of his touch. A soft chuckle came from close to your ear. “Always so impatient,” he said, biting your earlobe.

His movements began to quicken, and the warmth in your core spread throughout your torso. Your legs began to shake as you braced yourself against the wall, feeling his fingers slide in and out of you, coated in your slickness.

“Fuck, Mando,” you sighed, dropping your head to your chest and screwing your eyes shut underneath the blindfold. “I… I, fuck, that feels so fucking…” you reached forward and grabbed his belt buckle, pulling him close to you, halting his movements as you felt the stiffness of his cock.

“So impatient…”

He removed his fingers from you, and before you could protest, he yanked down your trousers, leaving you completely naked against the wall. His movements confused you- you couldn’t tell where he was, what he was doing, and the thought exhilarated you. Your knees nearly gave out when he grabbed one of your ankles from an unforeseen angle, throwing it over his shoulder. A warmth surrounded your clit, and his fingers returned. You finally cried out when you felt his tongue swirl against your clit, his fingers driving upwards inside you. His free hand gripped your hip as he rested on his knees against you, torturing you with his tongue.

It was what you had dreamed, but better.

“Mando, I-” you gasped, feeling the warmth in your tummy growing to a crescendo. Your muscles began to tense and lock, your legs began to shake. “I’m gonna- Mando, I-”

He removed his fingers from your pussy. Your legs shook with ecstasy, quickly being replaced by fury.

“Y-you fucking… dick” you panted out before he flipped you around, pressing your chest against the wall once more. A hand grabbed your hip, pressing you to him, another hand tangled itself in your hair, yanking your head up to meet him, your back arching.

“You think it’s that easy?” His words came close to your ear, breathless, wanting, _desperate_. 

You felt his teeth sink into your shoulder blade, and you pulled your head against the strength of him tugging your hair. He paused, a fraction of a moment, before guiding your hips to him, and slowly, _excruciatingly slowly_ sheathing himself in your throbbing cunt. A whimper emerged from somewhere deep inside you, and you clawed at the metal wall to try and grip onto something, anything, _anything_ to manage the white hot heat that he sent through you. He broke you open completely, pulling out slowly before slamming into you again.

“Think I would let you come without fucking you?” he growled, “think you’d get away with that?”

You couldn’t answer. You were physically incapable of answering. You felt like you were drowning, desperately grasping for air as he pounded into you. Each stroke hit somewhere inside you never touched before by anyone else. _Fuck,_ how was he so impossibly thick? How did he manage to make you feel like this? You couldn’t hang on for much longer, not when he was fucking you like this, not when he was fucking you like you were nothing, fucking you like you were everything. You felt the cold sheen of Beskar on his legs and hip every time he pulled himself into you, the slick sound of him slapping against you, the sharp sting when he slapped your ass.

“Don’t stop,” you managed to gasp out, cursing the rag that sat around your eyes, preventing you from seeing any of him. “Don’t you... fucking stop.”

His hand left your hair and wrapped around the column of your neck, arching your back up to him. “Perfect fucking cunt…” he cursed, beating against you. “H-have such a pretty fucking cunt…”

There it was again- the tensing, the heat, the feeling that you were ready to implode from the inside. You could feel it building, and knew you didn’t have much left. 

“Mando… I… I’m gonna… I-I can’t-”

“Then come.”

It was all you needed. You came undone around him, feeling yourself clench around his throbbing cock, your legs locking. His movements didn’t stop as you cried out, arching your back, pressing yourself against the wall. He fucked you hard through your aftershocks, refusing to relent. You felt your muscles contract, resisting the urge to clamp your knees closed, to slide to the floor in complete exhaustion, utterly spent. If your eyes had been open, you would have seen stars. The Mandalorian’s harsh rhythm stuttered for a moment, and you heard him pant slightly as he removed himself, spilling onto your back, his broken voice whispering your name.

“Ah, f-fuck… fuck…”

Somehow, you guided yourselves to the floor. All you heard for a moment was the exhausted panting of your own breath, combined with the sounds of the Mandalorian breathing. You were too exhausted to care about your position on the floor, his proximity to you, or anything else other than calming yourself down from your climax.

You heard him shift- and then, before you could grasp what was happening, his breaths sounded filtered again. A tiny part of you deflated slightly- the helmet was back on. You waited for him to reach forward and remove the scrap of fabric from around your eyes. You blinked slowly, trying to re-acclimate to the darkness of the hold, the only lights on were from the emergency guides. It was almost as dark inside the ship as it had been with the scarf on. As your gaze focused on the Mandalorian, he had already put himself away, and laid on the floor gazing intently at you. You suddenly became aware of your nakedness, and you curled up in on yourself.

“No,” he whispered, “no.” He reached forward and pulled you close to him, using the scrap of fabric that had been around your eyes to reach around your back and wipe you off. The floor was cold, but you appreciated the silent moment where you lay tucked up against the Mandalorian’s shoulder. 

You caught yourself when your eyes began to close. _No_ you thought. A wall had been rebuilt, and you suddenly sat up, throwing your shirt over your head, pulling your trousers to you. 

The Mandalorian sat silently next to you, mimicking your movements when you sat up. You didn’t know what to say, for once- what does one say when you were recovering from being well and truly fucked, but needed to continue working with your torturer? 

“We should get going,” you said, after a minute. You could feel Mando’s intense gaze on you, studying you as you shoved your underwear back on, controlling your hair. You wanted him away from you so that you wouldn’t have to pretend at intimacy, to have that dreaded conversation of _what just happened_ , and _where do we go from here?_. You knew where you wanted to go: the next planet.

He nodded slowly, getting to his feet. You waved him off when he offered his hand to help you up- something about his touch now seemed too raw, too charged. He had just been fucking the life out of you, for fuck’s sake, and now you didn’t want him getting any wrong ideas. This was professional, you told yourself. Strictly professional. You were just colleagues… who had just slept together. That was normal, right?

_Right?_

So, you stumbled to your legs by yourself, refusing to say anything else to the Mandalorian. He seemed to take your cue, because without another word, he turned from you and went to the cockpit.

It was only then that you noticed his cape’s hem was slightly shorter than before. You glanced at the rag on the floor, and couldn’t help but giggle, pressing your hand to your mouth to stay quiet. 

Below you, the ship kicked to life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try SO hard to publish on a weekly schedule but I have so much already written out, I want you guys to see it so badly and I have no self control


	8. youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And if you're still bleeding, you're the lucky ones, 'cause most of our feelings, they are dead and they are gone_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> going to try to start regularly updating on a weekly basis. thank you so much to all of you who have read and left comments/kudos, you'll never understand the depths of my appreciation.

“Come on, kid,” you whined, bouncing him on your hip, “ _please_ just go the _fuck_ to sleep.”

The child had been crying for what felt like days, although in the depths of hyperspace, you couldn’t tell when one day ended and another began. Time warped around you, quite literally blurring the line between reality and warped speed. It was useless attempting to differentiate between days. All you knew was that you had been traveling for far too long, and you were far too tired to be dealing with this.

You only realized how big the galaxy was when you asked Mando where exactly you were headed and he gruffly threw out a name: Oba Diah. You couldn’t even begin to discern where exactly that was. 

“Will you shut him up?” Mando hissed from the cockpit above you.

“You don’t think I’m trying?” you bit back, shouting back up at him. It was true- you had tried feeding him, rocking him to sleep, playing with him, and _nothing_. You suspected that he was overtired, as much as you were, but he wouldn’t settle down and fucking _sleep_ for stars’ sake.

You wanted to climb up the ladder into the cockpit and fucking _throttle_ Mando. You didn’t regret what had happened on Nevarro… but you regretted where it left you two. You didn’t like this silence, this silence that was so different from his usual silence, your usual bristling irritation. Something more hostile hung in the air, something slightly more charged, more volatile. Rather than satiate your urge, his actions had only awoken something deep and primal in you. No… you didn’t look back on your actions on Nevarro with regret… you looked back on them with longing. _Craving_ more.

But he had barely said more than a handful of words to you since you had departed the volcanic planet. And you wanted to throttle him.

You also wanted to fuck the life out of him… but perhaps those urges were two sides of the same coin.

“Obviously it’s not working,” he said with a huff, climbing down the ladder and landing on the floor of the ship with a huff.

“Thank you, that’s _super_ helpful,” you grumbled. “Why don’t you give it a try, hm? He’s your fucking kid, after all.”

You turned back to the child, who sat in your arms with his eyes screwed shut, his little green hands clinging to your shirt. He had run out of tears days ago, so he seemed content to simply scream. You were nearly ready to squish him under your boot. You didn’t think you’d feel _too_ much remorse…

“Tell him that story,” Mando said after a moment, leaning against the hull of the ship and crossing his arms over his chest. “The one about Tatooine. He seemed to like that last time.”

You didn’t want to tell Mando that if you started telling that story, you would likely fall asleep with the kid. But your nerves were fried, and you couldn’t think of anything else to do.

“Remember, bud?” you asked, bumping him on your hip as you strolled around the hull, “remember Keojos and Ashllesl?” 

The green gremlin continued to shriek.

“Where were we…” you mused, intently feeling the gaze of the Mandalorian’s visor on you as you kept your sight locked on the kid. “Ah, yes, the Kumumgah had attracted outside attention.”

_”They had amazing technology like you wouldn’t believe. All of life’s problems could be solved. Their people were practically immortal- they didn’t suffer from any disease, or hunger, or want. Tatooine was a utopia with their progress. But they were foolish. Keojos and his comrades from other villages knew their own power, and attempted to colonize other planets. In their arrogance, they didn’t realize that they had drawn the interest of the Rakata Empire.”_

You looked down at the kid, whose screams had diminished to a pitiful wail.

“Keep going,” Mando encouraged from the far corner. Your head shot up to meet his gaze and you narrowed your eyes. He was indeed listening intently, one ankle crossed over the other in a gesture resembling something like relaxation. That was the thing about Mando- he never divided his attention. He committed all of his energy to whatever was in front of him, never allowing himself to be distracted.

How did you end up getting saddled with all the hard work?

 _”The Rakata were evil,”_ you continued, _”they were known to be cannibals, and were harsh and cruel and didn’t care who they hurt in order to gain power. Their empire was built off the stuff of old legends, things you and I can barely understand. It’s said that they were able to move objects with their minds, to control others.”_

The kid’s eyes widened significantly, and his ears wiggled. Encouraged by his silence, you recounted history, now lost. 

_”The Kumumgah knew of these sorts of people. They had known them for their entire history- but they had never seen an entire army of these skilled warriors. The Rakata Empire was massive, and possessed technology that the Kumumgah had never seen. It was a dangerous enemy to attract. Keojos, as leader of his village, was pulled into the War Council with his colleagues, attempting to find a strategy where his people could defeat the invaders._

_‘It’s pointless,’ he said to them. ‘This is a battle we cannot win.’ He hung his head low, and the other men accused him of being a traitor. But Keojos was wise beyond his years, and he knew when a battle was well and truly lost, even before it was even fought._

_‘We need to evacuate the women and children,’ he told them. ‘If the Rakata takes the planet, there’s no way to know the amount of suffering they will inflict.’_

_At this, all the men leapt to their feet, denouncing him. They were a proud race, an arrogant race, and they would not plan to be defeated. It would be the ultimate humiliation._

_With the threat of war looming, Keojos left the War Council. He knew his part in the upcoming war, and he knew what would happen to him and his people. But he knew he could not stand this fate for Ashllesl. When he went to her, he took her hands in his and kissed her. They stood outside her family’s small house for a long time, admiring the way the twin suns set in the sky. They didn’t have to say it: they knew that it would be the last time they would see each other for a long time._

_‘You must leave,’ he urged her. ‘You must get off the planet.’_

_‘And your fate?’ Ashllesl asked him expectantly, afraid of what would happen to him. She had known him for her entire life- she couldn’t bear the thought of being away from him. He was her other half, her better half, her bravery._

_‘My fate is with the other men,’ Keojos told her, holding her close to him. ‘It is my duty and my honor. You… you still have life left to live.’”_

You glanced down and saw the gremlin slowly closing his eyes. You saw him fighting the urge to sleep, so you shushed him on, giving him your finger to hang onto. Across the hold, the Mandalorian rested his shoulder against the metal wall, his gaze focused on your with laser precision. You felt the heat coming from him, his intensity, and chose to ignore it to the best of your ability.

You placed the child in his crib as softly as you could without jostling him too much. When Mando finally pressed a button on his gauntlet, closing the hood of the crib, you finally breathed out a sigh of relief. 

“Thank the fucking Maker,” you sighed, leaning against the hold of the ship. 

The Mandalorian nodded at you, and jerked his head towards the ladder up to the cockpit. You knew the gesture, and accepted his invitation. Despite the awkwardness that existed between you two now, you did not want to be anywhere near that crib. The last thing you wanted was to accidentally wake the kid up again.

When you settled into the chair adjacent to him, you pulled your knees up close to your chest and heaved a sigh, closing your eyes and rubbing your temples with your fingertips. Streaks of light streamed past the ship as it traveled through hyperspace, and you felt that it certainly wasn’t helping you with your fatigue. What you needed was _sleep_ , the crushing weight of it bearing down on you.

“You ok?”

Stars, you wished you could’ve rolled your eyes at his attempts at sincerity, the painful way that he didn’t even attempt to mask that he cared, at least a little bit, about your well-being. You felt almost like you were drowning in the ship, confused about your emotions and not knowing where they were taking you. You were so used to being in control of everything, including your feelings- it was the only way you could have survived all these years on your own. This sudden sense of unease, this lack of knowledge of where you stood, undermined everything you thought you knew about yourself, your resolve, and the barriers you had constructed to keep yourself safe. You didn’t know how to progress. At least with Melisam, you knew that he would leave in less than thirty-six hours. There was never any confusion, never any opportunity for more, for _feelings_ and their ubiquitous complications.

“I’m fine,” you brushed him off, “just tired. How long until Obo… whatever it is?”

“Oba Diah.” You felt the heavy gaze of the visor turn towards you again. “Another couple of hours, I think.”

 _”Stars,”_ you muttered, slumping down lower in the seat.

The Mandalorian was silent for a long time. You rested your head back against the back of the seat, inhaling deeply and closing your eyes, unable to keep them open for much longer. It seemed that this was your life now, traversing through the galaxy on the brink of exhaustion, catching whatever spare moments of sleep you could get. Waiting for Mando to come back.

“Have I ever told you why I have a Mudhorn as my signet?”

You peeped your eyes open, noticing for perhaps the first time the roundel of metal on his shoulder, a monstrous creature with a curving smile and a fearsome horn.

“Is that what that thing is?” you mumbled, your voice small. “You don’t tell me much of anything, Mando.”

He sat silently, his hand resting on the ship’s thruster, watching systems pass in a blur outside the cockpit.

“It was the kid.”

Your ears perked up. The _kid_? 

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” he exhaled. “I still don’t. One minute the thing was charging me, and I only had a small knife… I was completely ready to… but he never came. I looked up, and this monster was floating in the air.”

“He _what_?” You couldn’t resist sitting up in your chair, your gaze affixed to the man in the Beskar helmet. “But… how?”

“The kid,” Mando said gruffly. “He was… I don’t know... shaking? And his hand was out… like he was controlling the Mudhorn. With his mind.”

You paused.

“Like the Rakata,” you breathed out, putting the pieces together. “Are you sure?”

“I know what I saw,” he said, turning to you. “I saw what the kid did. I thought it was impossible, until…”

“It’s just an old story, Mando.”

“Some legends are based in truth.”

He… well, he might have had you there. Stars, just take him. You had heard the legends of Mandalore, the stories of the old warring planet with its creed, its soldiers never taking their helmets off. And here he was, a living embodiment of long-forgotten history, a relic of a former time. A pressed flower, stuck between the pages of history, resigned to follow an ancient Way.

What a burden to bear on his armored shoulders. 

You gave a noncommittal “hmph,” leaning back in the chair once more and squeezing your eyelids shut.

“You can go to sleep, you know,” he said.

You shook your head. “That cot is a death trap,” you mumbled, keeping your eyes closed and continuing to rub at your temples. “Probably the least comfortable thing I’ve ever slept on, and that’s saying something.”

Silence. After the kid’s screaming, it was almost a relief. 

“You can sleep somewhere else.”

This time, your eyes crank slightly open to peer at him. “Where else would I sleep? The floor? In your bunk? No, Mando, I doubt your bunk is any comfier than mine.” The words escaped before you even processed what you were saying, and you only restrained yourself from clamping a hand over your mouth to avoid seeming any more guilty than you already were.

Mando’s chair whipped around. _”What?”_

“You left your door open that day on Hosnian Prime when I showered,” you quickly explained, trying desperately to be sincere without _sounding_ too sincere, like you cared too much. “I didn’t snoop, I promise. I only looked to make sure that it wasn’t the shower. I swear.”

Silence.

“Didn’t look like you used it much, anyways,” you said quietly.

He hesitated. You could see him holding back, the slight tilt of his helmet that told you that he was considering your words. 

“I don’t sleep much,” he confessed. “Don’t need to. Makes _this_ ,” he said, gesturing to the ship, “easier.”

You give him a small smile, thankful that he was actually engaging you in conversation. It felt as if the ice wall between the two of you was beginning to thaw. Perhaps you would be able to get by just forgetting what happened on Nevarro… pretending that it hadn’t been electric, pretending that you didn’t care that if he would fuck you like that again, you would gladly push his buttons until he broke.

“Lucky,” you breathed, closing your eyes again, “it seems like no matter how much sleep I get, I’m always tired.”

“Because of the nightmares?”

Your eyes fucking _snapped_ open. You straightened up in your seat, guard suddenly up, feeling entirely too seen, too vulnerable, too known. You pursed your lips, taking a page from his book and staying silent under his gaze.

He turned back around in his chair, back to the control panel. He punched in a few buttons, leaving you hanging for an answer, an explanation. After a moment, he finally spoke. “You… cry out... sometimes,” he shrugged. 

“Oh.” You felt like an idiot, an inconvenience, cripplingly embarrassed. “Um… sorry. Don’t mean to.”

“I know. It’s ok.”

And there it was. The requisite Mando reply- short and curt and without anything frivolous, and yet somehow… _comforting_? You paused, waiting for the follow-up questions, the necessary questions, the beginning of the interrogation. If it had been any other man, you figured, he would have started the questions. The _whos,_ the _whats_ , the _I’m sorry’s_. 

But that wasn’t Mando. He didn’t pry, and neither did you. There were some things that you both knew were left unsaid- pasts were one of them. For all that you irritated each other, that drove each other mad to the point of… well, whatever had happened on Nevarro… you knew that there were some things that were off limits. You respected him, and you at least thought he respected you. Even if that respect only came after you bullied him into giving you an e-comm device.

“Go on,” he said over his shoulder. “Get a few hours of sleep. I’ll wake you up when we drop out of hyperspace.”

You nodded, your eyelids drooping. You simply didn’t have the energy to point out how much he annoyed you when he gave you commands- that would be an argument for another day. For tonight- today? You still weren’t sure what time it was in the depths of hyperspace- you were willing to remove yourself from the cockpit and slink into the narrow cot’s metal frame, nestling your bones into the familiar crooks and ledges that were beginning to give you bruises. 

You realized when you were tucked into the blankets, drifting off to sleep, that you hadn’t even said another word to Mando before you left him by himself in the cockpit. You saw the faint light of the small vestibule above you from across the ship, knowing that above you, the Mandalorian once again conducted the ship through hyperspace by himself while everyone else slept.

The last thought before you drifted asleep was that something about his self-imposed isolation seemed impossibly lonely.

### 

“Hey.”

A nudge at your ankle.

“Wake up.”

“Hm?” you lifted your head slightly from your flattened pillow, creaking open your eyes. Mando stood at the foot of your cot, already dressed in his armor, looking… sheepish? Embarrassed? Perhaps you were really making up emotions for him, after all.

“What is it? Fuck,” you grumbled, tucking your nose back into the pillow, screwing your eyes shut. You were always in your worst moods when you were tired.

“I let you sleep as long as I could,” he said through the filtered modulator. “We’re here.”

You let out a huff. “And?”

A pause. “And… I need to go.”

“Then go.” You weren’t sure why he was still hanging around. All he had to do was tell you and then leave, like he always had. “What’s wrong?”

He shuffled his feet. “Might be longer this time,” he said, walking up alongside the cot and resting the blinking e-comm device right under your nose. “A couple weeks.”

You peeped one eye open, your stomach doing somersaults when you saw him towering over you. _Maker_ , was he always this tall and foreboding? Or was it just your exhaustion kicking in, tearing down walls that had taken years to build? How many creatures throughout the galaxy had opened their eyes and seen this vision in their final moments?

“Oh.”

He glanced around the ship, as if contemplating what to say. “You and the kid should be ok here,” he said finally. “You’re pretty well hidden.”

You gave a small nod, your cheek still pressed against the pillow.

He turned back to you with an order: “Sleep.”

You screwed your eyes shut and buried your head into the pillow, pulling the blanket tightly around your shoulder. “Gladly. If that’s all you got, then fuck off, and see you in a few weeks.”

You heard the sharp intake of breath, the prolonged exhale. You tried to discern its meaning- he wasn’t surprised, and he wasn’t hurt by your comment, but he was debating whether or not to respond in kind. You prayed that he would simply leave you _alone_ for fuck’s sake, so you could get a few more hours of sleep. 

Internally, a battle raged inside you debating with every moment whether to let him in just a bit further, to let him know that kernel of you that hadn’t been wrung out and dried in the Tatooine sun… or to push him away even more. Nevarro had only complicated that already on-going debate. You weren’t content to argue with everyone else in the galaxy, you also had to argue with yourself.

“Three weeks. Then use the e-comm.”

“Got it. Now fuck off, Mando. Go do your job. We’ll be here.” You threw in the last statement as a sort of contingency clause, thinking it was the last thing he needed to hear before he well and truly left you alone to sleep.

You heard the shuffle of footsteps next to you retreat into the distance. You sighed into the pillow, curling it against you, finally sinking back into the fog of sleep that you had admittedly never truly left. The groaning of the Crest’s ramp was the only indication that he had finally left.

Until the kid started crying again.


	9. until you remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Every night I pray that you'll come back today... and hold me like you used to do_

Even though Mando had told you it was safe, you were still hesitant to venture far from the ship. He hadn’t lied when he told you that he had parked you in a safe spot- in truth, the Crest was parked on the very edge of a cragged obsidian cliff, dropping down thousands of feet into a valley below you. You had clung onto the kid tightly when you first peered over its edge, sitting down and dangling your feet over the sheer dropoff and looking out onto the vast landscape around you. You turned over a cool jet-black rock in your hand, your thumb skimming over its smooth surface, and marveled how many types of earth existed in the galaxy.

When you brought it back to the ship, you added it to your growing pile of souvenirs under your cot.

Oba Diah’s surface was a jagged construction of steep cliffs and narrow valleys, a shiny black wasteland of obsidian rock and not much else. You understood why Mando expected this hunt to take several weeks- in examining the view from all directions, you couldn’t see a single sign of life anywhere.

The first night after Mando had left, you eyed your narrow cot warily. You did not want to sleep in it again, no matter what he said. But Maker, you were so tired, your bones hurt, you wanted to sleep and sleep and sleep until these three weeks had passed and he had returned. You heard a small squeak, and turned around to see the child sitting in his crib, tucked in with blankets all around him, and an idea popped into your head.

You ended up dragging the thin mattress off its sliding metal support frame and heaving it to the ground, shoving it into the far corner of the ship. You didn’t think that he had been serious about sleeping on the floor, but you piled your blankets around you and punched your pillow into a semblance of an acceptable shape, and figured you’d at least give it a try.

You woke up eighteen hours later. 

“Well then,” you sighed, stretching up and gathering the child close to you, contentedly hugging him into this chest, “I guess your dad had a good idea after all.”

### 

You hated to admit it, and if anyone ever asked you, you’d lie, but you were starting to miss Mando. 

Even if you didn’t actually miss _him_ , you missed his company, the knowledge that he was on the ship with you, the energy that he exuded when you were in the same room as him. You missed his silences, and you missed the opportunities when he spoke up about something. You missed the feeling that you got in the pit of your stomach when you would turn and catch his gaze on you, as if he was examining you.

Three weeks was a _long_ time. You hated it. 

Not that you were bored, but there was only so much that you could pretend to chat with the child about before you began running in circles in your own head. The only thing you wanted to talk to someone about was Mando, to try to work through your evolving feelings for him and how they scared the _shit_ out of you, but you still weren’t sure if the kid could completely understand you, and well… the last thing you needed was to be snitched on by the little green booger to his dad.

But the problem was, when you were by yourself for so long, your thoughts began to wander. They wandered to places where you really didn’t want to go, memories you didn’t care to recall, painful questions of _what if I could have done something differently?_ You knew it was futile to wonder about it, you knew it wouldn’t make any difference, but you got caught up in the what if’s of life too often for your own good. You needed Mando to come back. Even if he didn’t always respond, it was better than trying to negotiate with the inner demons inside your head, the dark tentacles of your past that refused to let go.

And then, there was the little pesky problem of your dreams again. There were still the nightmares, yes, but with Mando having been gone so long… and with you knowing what he felt like when he was deep inside you, giving you all that he had, all that he was… 

You woke up every morning aching for him to give it to you again.

On the twenty-third day you had been parked on the cliffs of Oba Diah, you heard the creaking of the ramp to the Crest opening. You were situated on a rolling board underneath a control panel and couldn’t be bothered to roll out from under it to watch Mando stroll onto the ship. Besides, you knew it was Mando- nobody else would’ve been able to open the Crest. So you continued about your work, waiting for him to make himself known to you.

“Is that my little womp rat?”

Your blood chilled. _No_ , you thought, it was impossible. It had to be. You would’ve recognized the lilt of his voice anywhere, could practically see the grin on his face, his straight teeth, his close-cropped hair. 

“You weren’t at the shipyard when I last visited,” the voice said from a distance. “I never thought you’d actually leave.”

You wheeled yourself slowly out from underneath the control panel and sat up, silently pursing your lips together and staring at the new man in the ship.

How long had it been since you had seen Melisam? Months? You couldn’t remember when he had last seen you on Tatooine before Mando showed up. But a familiar pang hit you when you saw him, his tanned skin, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, his brown almond eyes, his arrow-straight nose. Even now, as he swayed into the ship, his hands bound in front of him, he still had that unquestioning arrogance that had drawn you to him in the first place. 

Mando shifted into view, and that pang of familiarity shifted into something else- embarrassment? You didn’t know what to say to Melisam or to Mando, so you kept your mouth fucking _shut_. You felt the intensity of Mando’s eyes on you, you knew that piercing look so well, feeling his questions brimming to the surface, his propriety holding him back.

With a shove, Mando pushed Melisam into the narrow hallway with the carbonite chamber. You could hear Melisam goading Mando, pushing all the same buttons you usually did, except this time, you could tell that he was talking about _you_ in a way that made your skin bristle. 

_Cute little thing, isn’t she…_

_Watch out though, she bites… or are you into that?_

_… what a fucking mouth on that bitch, I’ll tell you…_

And then a grunt and a sharp cry of pain, the sound of snapping bone. You couldn’t help but smile at the sound. You weren’t used to- or familiar with- displays of protection, especially when they came neatly packaged in layers of testosterone and male arrogance, but you were grateful that Mando had shut Melisam up. You heard the rush of carbonite freezing, and knew that the quarry had been stowed for safe travel. You let out a deep sigh of relief, knowing that you wouldn’t have to deal with Melisam’s goading for the rest of the trip.

When Mando emerged, he wiped blood off the back of his glove onto his dark trousers. He pushed a button and the ramp began rolling up before he turned his attention to you.

“You know him.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement of truth. How typical of Mando, to refrain from prying only until he had come to his own conclusions. You swallowed thickly.

“Yes,” you nodded. There was no point in lying. “He’s… um- was… an old friend.”

“An old… friend.”

You gave a quick nod. “I haven’t seen him in… well… in a long time.”

Mando gave a huff that let you know he didn’t entirely believe you, that he saw right through your attempt to downplay your relationship with the man now frozen in carbonite. 

“He’s a smuggler,” he said gruffly, “running spice for the Pyke Syndicate.”

“I know.”

“You _know_?”

“Well,” you said quickly, holding out your hands, “I knew he was a smuggler. I didn’t know what he was carrying, I never asked. He never stayed long.”

Silence. 

“What… what did you do to him?” you asked, glancing down at his hand, the red stain on the worn leather.

“Broke his nose.”

“Why?” you whispered. “Wasn’t worth your trouble.”

“He was…” Mando paused, as if trying to find the words that would be appropriate. You knew just as well as he did what Melisam had been doing. You just wanted to hear him say it. “Running his mouth.” 

Stars, why did seeing him act on your behalf turn you _on_ so much? Had you simply missed his proximity, or was there something combined in his actions, his removal of a very touchy problem, his standoffishness when it came to everything… including you? A voice in your head screamed at the primitiveness of it, the protectiveness of it…

Maker, you wanted him. You wanted him so badly it hurt, that dull ache in your core that made your lips tremble and your knees buckle.

The room felt electrically charged as the Mandalorian stepped towards you, his hands bunched into fists at his sides, his expression inscrutable under the helmet. He lingered out of your reach, _painfully far away_.

“What was he to you?”

“Does it matter?” you cocked your head to the side, intrigued at this side of him. You were nothing to him, you were a mechanic, you had fucked once, where was this coming from? And why didn’t you care? Why didn’t it send you running and packing, fearing what walls would come down next?

When he answered, his voice was a low growl coming through the helmet.

“I don’t share.”

You took a step forward, shaky hands resting on his belt buckle. His stance widened, permitting you to get closer, to rest your hand on his crotch, to squeeze his cock gently. You peered up into the visor, seeing only the warped reflection of your own face.

Your tongue darted out, nervously licking your bottom lip. “You don’t have to.”

“Don’t…” he hissed, his voice low and already betraying his lust.

You swallowed thickly, putting aside your shame momentarily in order to vocalize what you needed from him, what you had been thinking about since he had left you alone weeks ago. To satisfy that ache that emanated from somewhere deep within, for him to _show you_ that you were his, and only his. 

For you to show him.

“I need you to fuck me.”

His shoulders braced, and yet he said nothing. You attempted to maintain your composure, but you had hoped for an enthusiastic response, something that would clue you in to how he was feeling, if he needed this as much as you did…

You couldn’t stop yourself. You lowered down to your knees in the hold of the ship, driven by nothing else other than a pure, pulsating desire to touch him, to feel him in the darkness. Your palm hadn’t left him, and you could feel him growing hard under your touch.

“We shouldn’t…” he stammered under his helmet.

You peered up at him, your eyes large as you pulled his cock out of his trousers. “Shouldn’t… or don’t want to?”

He shuddered when you touched the tip of your tongue to the head of his cock. A moment’s silence and a ragged exhale. His arms shot out, bracing himself against the wall, trapping you in underneath him. You ran your tongue lazily up from the base of his cock to the head, teasing him with your controlled slowness, just as he had driven you mad.

“Fuck,” he hissed. His breath left the helmet in pants. “Want t’fuck you every fucking day…”

It was the confirmation you needed to take him fully into your mouth. You started slow, swirling his head with your tongue, your hand resting on the base of his shaft, slowly caressing him, your fingertips trailing up and down, up, and down. He was already leaking for you- you licked it up with your tongue, pressing it flat against him, before taking him deeper into your throat. He let out a broken gasp when you took him, and you felt yourself grow wetter as you listened to him attempt to maintain control. _Stars_ , you felt powerful, holding him in you like this, causing him so much distress and pleasure at the same time. 

You closed your eyes and began to bob your head up and down with a steady rhythm, feeling one of his hands come down to your head, lacing his gloved fingers through your hair, holding you to him. 

“Fuck…” he sighed, “so fucking good… so f-fucking…”

You hummed around his cock, pumping him with your hand as you continued to move your head. His shaft grew more slick with each movement and he began to rock his hips into your mouth.

But just when you had established a steady rhythm, you slowed down. You felt his hips stutter as your tongue came back up to swirl around the head of his cock, teasing him, showing him that you were in control. A growl escaped his throat when he saw you slip a hand down your own pants, your fingers tracing along your wet slit, aching for his touch.

You began to swirl your finger around your clit, moaning into him when you felt the first ripples of pleasure rip through your body. Fuck, you needed this; you needed this release of pent up lust to finally be addressed, to feel him with you after weeks of his absence. You didn’t even give a fuck anymore about the line between personal and professional, the awkwardness of _after_ last time, you were driven purely by white-hot need.

“No, pretty girl,” you heard him gasp above you, an ungloved hand reaching down and cupping your jaw, removing his cock and tilting your face upwards to look at him. “Only I get to touch you there.”

You grinned and used your free hand to wipe your saliva off your bottom lip. Still, you didn’t stop your movements on your clit, and you closed your eyes and gasped when you sunk a finger into your wet pussy. 

“Are- are you going to stop me?” you asked, pushing him even further off the ledge.

You heard him curse as he crashed to his knees on the floor of the ship, clasping your wrist and removing your hand from yourself. He made quick work of ripping your pants off you, and before you knew it, he was in between your spread legs, his helmet hovering inches above you.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, pressing his thick cock against your entrance. He ground his hips against you, sliding himself against your wetness, teasing you. You wanted to buck your hips up against him, to finally slide him in, to feel him completely. “Wanted me to fuck you on the floor of my ship?”

“Yes,” you breathed as his forearms rested on either side of your head, bracing you in, leveraging his weight. 

“Already so wet for me,” he breathed out, pressing the head of his cock against you. He hitched your leg up against his hip, exhaling slowly as he pushed into you, feeling you stretch around him. 

And… there it was, that feeling of desire being met in you by the feeling of him. As he withdrew and plunged into you again, you cried out and ran your hands down his back, desperate to grab onto any exposed fabric for dear life. The familiar heat in your core threatened to overwhelm you, even though Mando made it clear that he was just beginning to have his way with you.

“Fuck... Mando,” you cried out as he pumped himself into you with forceful thrusts. You needed this. You needed him. That much was becoming clear. 

“Did _he_ fuck you like this?” he asked, driving into you, “did he fuck your sweet little pussy hard like this?”

“No,” you gasped. Nobody else could ever fuck you like this, would ever fuck you like this.

He leaned back, grabbing your ankles and positioning them on his shoulders before continuing to drive into you. Stars, he was threatening to break you open from the inside, hitting your g-spot from a different angle that had you ready to explode. You threw your hand over your mouth, biting the inside of your palm to keep from screaming with how good it felt, screwing your eyes closed as he pounded into you mercilessly.

“No-” he growled, removing your hand, “scream.”

You felt the familiar wave building and rising, the heat spreading throughout your body, your mind going foggy. One word on repeat:

“Fuck… fuck… holy- fuck…”

“Just like that,” he said back to you.

Before you had time to process, your orgasm came crashing down on you. Your body went fucking _rigid_ as waves of pleasure went coursing through you, your back arching up, your eyes rolling back behind closed eyelids. He continued to fuck you as you rode your orgasm, crying out into the ship’s hold, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. You could’ve sobbed, you felt so good, so ruthlessly and completely _fucked_ in the most primal way you had ever needed.

“Fuck…” he cursed, his rhythm beginning to falter, “‘d fuck you every day… anytime you wanted…”

You were breathless, barely hearing his words as he pulled out of you quickly, shooting over your lower stomach where your shirt had ridden up. He panted through the helmet, dropping to his back beside you, his chest heaving up and down as he attempted to recover from his own orgasm. You lay on your back, staring up at the ceiling of the ship.

“You put your bed on the ground.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow, turning to look at him. “I did,” you nod, eyeing the pile of blankets in the corner. “You were right. It was comfier than the bed frame.”

He laughed- at least, the fraction of a laugh, a short huff of breath through the helmet. “I was right?”

You blanched, recognizing the smile in his voice, the fact that he had caught you. “Just this once,” you shook your head vigorously, teasing him. You looked down at yourself, the mess he had caused. “I’m- I’m going to go shower,” you said after a moment.

Mando paused, watching you pick yourself off the ground. 

You felt his presence behind you as you walked to the shower, suddenly afraid. Sex was one thing, but this… this was intimate. It was so much easier to write off something as _just sex_ , easier to tell yourself that it meant nothing, that you could still lock yourself up and away and pretend like you were saving yourself from getting hurt, when really you were just keeping yourself from ever knowing anyone. Your hand shook slightly as you turned the knob, ridding yourself of your shirt and stepping into the hot spray, basking in the steam.

“Can… can I join?”

The goblin inside your head spoke up again, _Don’t get close, don’t get too attached, don’t let him know your secrets_. But the idea of the shower with Mando was too alluring, you almost sighed just thinking about it. 

“Um… ok,” you shrugged your shoulders. “Yeah, sure.”

“Close your eyes.”

 _”What?”_ you asked, resisting the urge to whip around and glare at him. “This is your plan, Mando?”

“Yes. Now close your eyes.”

You clamped your eyes shut, placing your hands over your eyes for good measure. “This feels like a loophole,” you mumbled, hearing the shower door open, feeling the proximity of his body. You had forgotten what he had sounded like without the modulator, the baritone of his voice, the rumble that came from deep in his chest.

“It is,” he whispered, stepping towards you and resting his hand on your hip.

 _Stars_ , this was so different from the sex. His touch sent sparks through you… different, more mellow sparks, more comforting sparks, electric all the same. You kept your eyes closed and slowly lifted your hands from your face. In a strange way, it felt easier to be with him when your eyes were closed, as if he couldn’t peer into your soul and read you completely. You felt braver, less vulnerable when you couldn’t see him.

You hesitated slightly- a slight pause that you hoped wasn’t noticeable- before stretching your hands out, resting them on a pair of collarbones in front of you. You gasped at your touch, moving with him as he inched towards you, further under the stream of water. Your hands wandered over his clavicles, up around the rounded muscles of his shoulders. You splayed your fingers, attempting to memorize the feeling of his skin, the warmth of bare skin that you had missed from another person. You trailed down his upper arms, feeling the swell of his biceps that filled your palms, the knob of his elbow, the tapering of his forearms down to his wrists. Your index finger traced a pronounced vein on each forearm, feeling his life literally pulsating beneath you. When your hands finally reached his, holding each side of your hips, he lifted them, cupping your jawline in his hands.

It was so different from when you had kissed him on Nevarro. On Nevarro, you had been harsh, you had bit his lip, you had knocked teeth, kissing was just a necessary but unwelcome precursor to what was yet to come.

But this kiss, _oh,_ this kiss was an event all by itself. 

This time, he was soft, his lips gentle and searching, his tongue licking you, urging you to softly open, to tilt your head, to slot your mouth against his. He kissed you like it was the last thing he would ever do, the best thing he had ever tasted, like you were single-handedly anchoring him to the ship beneath his feet. One of his hands migrated down to the curve of your waist, pulling you in close to his strong, warm chest, a chest that you suspected was always warm, even without the heat of the shower. You felt the scratch of fresh facial hair against your chin, a new puzzle piece for you to place in the empty picture that was his face.

When he pulled away, your head was swimming and your lips were still parted.

Mando reached forward and wiped droplets of water and steam off your bottom lip with his thumb.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “I had to do that.”

“Don’t apologize,” you said, breathless. “Y’can do that whenever you want.”

His thumb swiped over your lips again, and you tilted your chin upwards towards him, feeling his lips brush against yours once more. 

You snaked your arms around his narrow waist, pulling him to you under the steam, holding him as he was holding you. You had time to discern what this was, you thought to yourself, temporarily pausing your thoughts that were always running at a million lightyears an hour. Yes, you had time to analyze all this later. But for now, for now, you kept your eyes closed and pressed your cheek against the Mandalorian’s bare chest.

Above the noise of the water, you could hear his heartbeat.


	10. run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Will you stay with me my love for another day? 'Cause I don't want to be alone when I'm in this state_

“I’m going to have to replace this wiring,” you grumbled, pushing a hand through your hair.

“You can’t repair it?”

“I’m not a miracle worker,” you sighed at him, resisting the urge to glare at him. “I can only tape things up so much before they completely fry.” 

You had been at it all morning, attempting to re-wire a completely fried system that had barely supported the Crest when it crashed into a landing port on the trade outlet of Kafrene. You had tried nearly every trick in your book, and even now, you weren’t sure if it was going to be enough. All Mando had done was stand in the corner and ask if you were done every twenty minutes. You were ready to throw a wrench at his steel helmet, hoping to leave a mark.

Mando stood on the other side of the ship, considering your words. “I don’t have the credits,” he said finally.

“You never have the credits,” you rolled your eyes. “It’s a miracle this piece of shit is still flying,” you added under your breath.

“It’s your job to make sure it still flies,” Mando shot back from across the hold, crossing his arms over his chest.

You stood up from your position on the ship’s floor, using a rag to wipe the grime off your hands. “You can’t threaten to dump me off somewhere if the ship stops working. Wouldn’t be my fault,” you tell him, “Buy some fucking spare wiring.”

You felt the urge to argue coming over you, and this time, you didn’t attempt to stop it. Mando was expecting you to do the impossible with the Razorcrest, and you were nearly getting sick of it. You could only do so much when he had shitty parts and refused to spend a fraction of a credit on anything better. 

“You’re only going to start caring if the carbonite chamber starts to go,” you muttered to yourself, hoping that the Mandalorian overheard you.

“Will it fucking fly?” he asked, irritated.

“Yeah,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes and kicking the wall of wires and metal sheeting for good measure. You turned to him, your hands on your hips. “It should fucking fly.” And then, pushing another button, you added, “It’s what you’re paying me for- which reminds me, when am I going to get paid?”

The Mandalorian stayed silent, turning from you and stalking over to the child’s cradle.

“Hey!” you shouted, your anger close to simmering over. “When are you paying me? I’d like to know I have options, if I ever want off this piece of shit,” you spat, throwing the dirty rag across the hull of the ship.

The rag hit the back of his helmet with a satisfying _smack_ before falling to the ground. When the Mandalorian turned to you, the child in his arms, you wished you could’ve seen the look on his face. From what you could tell, it was the same inscrutable mask as always.

“Soon.”

“Soon?” You nearly went hypersonic. “That’s all you have to say? Soon?”

Mando sighed noncommittally. “Come on,” he said gruffly, his hand squeezing your shoulder tightly before nudging you towards the door, “let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” It wasn’t often that you left the ship, and any opportunity to explore the new world around you piqued your interest, even if it was a place like Kafrene, a trading post that served as a hive of activity that nearly intimidated you into self-enforced isolation.

In typical Mando fashion, he didn’t answer.

### 

The last place you expected him to take you was a dirty cantina tucked into a back alleyway. Your nose immediately wrinkled when you entered, sliding into a free booth in a corner. It smelled like spilled alcohol and old sweat, and you were immediately consumed with the urge to touch as little as possible. As a glass of a familiar blue alcohol was placed in front of you, Mando gently handed the child over to you.

You looked around the room, watching as a group of Bithins argued amongst themselves, their large black eyes unblinking and discomforting. You recognized an Aqualish, known for their bad tempers and even worse manners, Twi’leks, even a Sullustan. The number of languages floating around the cantina confused you, but something about the haze and the music and the crowd told you that nobody in here was particularly eager to be polite. You noticed a crowd of intimidating-looking men standing on the far wall, one of whom kept on glancing at you and the Mandalorian. 

Something about this place felt very, very dangerous.

“Mando…” you said gently, holding the kid close to your chest. “I don’t like this.”

The helmet whipped around to look at you. “Stay here.”

“ _Mando_ ,” you hissed, whispering, “something doesn’t feel right. I don’t _like_ this.”

“You don’t like a lot of shit,” he shot back at you, the irritation in his voice audible even over the din of the crowd. 

“But I-”

“Look, do you have your blaster?” he asked, shifting to look at you directly. He produced a tracking fob from his pocket, its red light blinking rapidly.

“Yes,” you mumbled, feeling rather small and insignificant.

“Have you ever used it?” Mando looked around the room- for what, you weren’t entirely sure.

“Of course I’ve used it,” you scoffed at him. “That doesn’t mean that I-”

“I mean _really_ used it,” he said, cutting you off in a rush. “Have you ever pointed that blaster at someone, and pulled the trigger.”

Your jaw clenched and your eyes narrowed. “ _Yes_ ,” you hissed, wanting to point your very blaster at him and show him just how much you knew how to use it. You hoped your tone of voice was enough of a warning to him, _no follow up questions_.“I know how to fucking use it.”

“Then you’ll be fine. You once told me you can handle yourself.”

“Mando, something just doesn’t feel right about this place,” you attempted to urge him, “especially with the kid.” You didn’t like how he was brushing you off, refusing to listen, as if your words weren’t even making it through that fucking helmet of his. “We shouldn’t be here.”

“If anyone touches him, pull the trigger.”

“Mando!”

“I’ll be back in an hour.”

He stood up from the corner booth and quickly disappeared into the crowd of people meandering about, leaving you to fume with the child in your hands and your drink in front of you. The child looked up at you expectantly, a tiny coo bubbling up from his lips.

“I’m gonna kill your dad,” you muttered to him, scratching the grey hairs on his tiny head. “I’ll be sorry to do it, but I have to,” you sighed, taking a sip of the blue liquid.

Across the cantina, the crowd parted slightly for a band to begin playing. You tapped your foot along to the music, a beautiful light blue Togruta singer crooning about some old lover of hers. You allowed your thoughts to wander, if only for a moment, while she continued her set up on the stage. You were certain some time had passed before you finally heard a voice above you.

“Is this seat taken?”

You looked up to see a towering figure standing above you, his blonde hair shorn close to his head, his piercing blue eyes gazing at you. His square jaw was set in an unwavering expression of vague irritation, a tan scar running jaggedly across his face. Something in the pit of your gut screamed _run_.

“Yes, I’m…. I’m waiting for someone,” you responded as cooly as you could, attempting to mask the nerves and unease you felt at the whole situation.

“Then I’m sure you won’t mind if I keep you company until they show up.” The man slid into the booth across from you, taking care to lay a blaster down in front of him on the table. You gulped, feeling the air in the cantina suddenly shift.

_Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm_.

You strained a smile and took another small sip from your drink. 

“Pretty girls shouldn’t be left alone,” the man said with a wink. “I’m Chrross. Chrross Minlam.”

“Pleasure.”

The band swelled with the music before breaking off. A smattering of applause filled the cantina.

“What do you think?” Chrross smiled, gesturing to the band. “Not too bad, hm?”

You shrugged. “Not really my taste.”

He leaned back in the booth, crossing his ankle over his knee. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

Maybe you had learned something from Mando, after all. You sat in silence, waiting for the man to continue, wishing- praying- that Mando would come back and squeeze your shoulder again, lead you out of this seedy bar and back onto the ship.

“Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll cut to the chase. You have something I want.”

“Excuse me?” Your heart started racing, your hands immediately breaking out into a clammy sweat. This was _wrong_ , you shouldn’t be here alone.

Chrross nodded at the green bug that sat in your arms. “That asset has quite a bounty on his head,” he said quietly, leaning forward so no one else could hear. “Whatever you’re getting paid, you could easily make triple that.”

Your grip on the child tightened. 

“My benefactor is very generous,” Chrross shrugged. “We could make a pretty penny.”

“There’s no ‘we’,” you threatened, your voice dropping, “and this conversation is over.” 

Chross rushed to your side of the table, standing above you and clamping a hand down on your shoulder, pushing you back into your seat. You began to panic- where the _fuck_ was Mando?- at his actions, the precarious situation you were in, and you started looking around the room, trying to gauge any way out of the situation.

“Now, I’m sure there are some terms that we can come to,” he threatened, his gaze dropping to the child.

The kid, who had remained silent up until this point, let out a tiny squeak, shifting back into your grasp. Chrross reached over, extending his hand towards the child.

“Don’t touch him,” you spat, keeping your eyes locked on the large man in front of you as you slid your hand down, down to where you kept your blaster holstered on your hip.

“He’s a cute little thing,” he whispered, his gaze flickering back up to you, “but then again, so are you. I’m sure we can find something useful for you to do…”

He reached forward and scratched the kid in between the ears. While the kid shirked back into your arms, Chrross leaned forward, and it was all the movement you needed to draw your gun, press it into his stomach, and pull the trigger. 

The body- because Chrross was no longer a person, only a body- ricocheted across the bar, slamming into another table. Your brain was rapidly firing, and you heard someone scream out in panicked B’rknaa, a rasped cry that immediately caught the attention of the entire cantina. 

You bolted when the blasters began firing. 

Clutching the child in your arms, you darted out into the maze of alleyways and streets that was Kafrene, dodging tradesmen and pilots as you fucking sprinted out of the cantina. Panicked, you punched the buttons on your e-comm.

_Only for emergencies_. Well, if this wasn’t an emergency then what was?

“Mando!” you shouted, your lungs heaving as you ran. Which way was it back to the ship? Stars, your side hurt and tears pricked your eyes from blind panic.

“What happened?”

You could’ve cried in relief at hearing his voice, although you thought you heard blasters behind him. Was he back at the cantina? Had you acted too soon?

“Someone… tried…” you tried to explain between breaths, “tried... totakethekid.”

“Where are you?” He sounded more focused now, actually concerned. “Where’s the child?”

“Going to the ship,” you pant, breathless. _Fuck_ the stitch in your side made it hard to run, you dug deep and pushed through, tumbling through a group of Twi’leks crowded around a food cart. You brushed off apologies and kept running through the labyrinth of corridors back to the ship, clutching the child close to your chest, fighting off tears. You had never run like this in your life, driven by pure fear, by the surging desire to get to the Crest, back to safety, back to the man in the metal suit.

You didn’t have time to question when you had started seeing Mando as a source of protection, rather than an irritating employer.

“On my way. Quarry secured.” His voice was brusque and curt through the e-comm, strained as if under immense pressure. 

The e-comm clicked off, and you were glad for it, as you were afraid that your tears were going to run over. You didn’t stop running until you reached the parked Crest, holding the kid and pacing in the hold until the ramp finally clicked closed with a deafening lock. It was only then that you put the kid on the ground and let out a ragged cry, a heaving sob, your chest shaking as you began to process what had happened.

You had only pulled the trigger once before. That didn’t make you a killer, comfortable with the weight of the repercussions of taking someone’s life. Every time you closed your eyes you saw Chrross fly across the cantina, the sickening thud of his body hitting the ground. You heard the screams of the others around you, could smell the tang of his blood.

Maker, you thought you were going to be sick. It had been so long since you had taken a life, you had forgotten what it did to you, the way you had panicked the first time, all on your own, contemplating what to do with the body…

You cried out, pressing the heels of your hands into your eye sockets, trying to push the memory out, trying to forget, to forget, to _forget_... 

You heard a small sigh and glanced down, watching as the kid lifted his hands to you. You sunk to your knees in the ship, pulling him close to you, clutching him for dear life, an anchoring presence. You couldn’t hyperventilate, not now, not when Mando was coming back...

“It’s ok,” you whispered, as much to him as to yourself, rocking him in your arms,, wishing you could come down from the emotional rush, the surge of adrenaline. 

“It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok, it’ll all be ok,” you repeated to yourself, trying to stop the tears, the rapid breathing. The stitch in your side from running had yet to unwind, and you resisted the urge to double over in pain. No, you knew to breathe through it, you just had to catch your breath and relax.

“Your dad will be here soon, and we’ll get off this fucking rock,” you said, pressing a small kiss to the gremlin’s head. “You’re ok,” you told him softly, “you’re safe.”

A loud bang echoed through the ship, and you immediately rose to your feet, spiraling around and pulling your blaster, holding it out in front of you.

“It’s me-”

“Fuck, Mando,” you sighed, your voice ragged, your nerves completely shot. You hastily wiped at your tears, smearing them across your face. “Don’t _fucking_ do that-” you tried so hard to keep your voice from breaking, miserably failing.

He dragged a carcass through the hold, shoving it into the carbonite chamber before turning to you. You wanted to throw yourself against him, to have him hold you like he had in the shower, to feel his warmth and the comfort that it brought. It wasn’t enough to know that the ship’s doors were closed, you wanted to be off this fucking asteroid, far away from the cantina, far away from whatever remained of Chrross on the sticky floor of the bar, you wanted to simply be crushed against the chest of the man in front of you. You swallowed thickly, holding back your tears. 

“Put the kid in the crib,” he ordered, brushing past you with a sense of urgency, “and come up to the cockpit. We need to get out of here before anyone sees.”

You nodded. You wouldn’t have argued even if you had wanted to- in this moment, you were grateful to let someone else take the reins, to let someone make the decisions. You had already made the most weighty decision: whether to let someone live or die. You placed the child in his egg, shutting the lid and making sure he was secured before taking it up into the cockpit with you. You were afraid to let him out of your sight after everything that had happened. You heard the familiar rumble of the ship beneath you, and suddenly your argument from this morning came back in full force- the ship _would_ take off, wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t be left here, in the company of the Stormtroopers, or worse, Chrross’ companions?

With shaking hands, you climbed up the ladder to the cockpit just as Mando had his hand on the thruster, sending the ship hurtling through the thin atmosphere and back into the darkness of space. It was only when you saw Kafrene sink into obscurity beneath you that you could finally let out a sigh of relief, holstering your blaster and sinking into the chair next to him, squeezing your eyes shut as if it would block out the way Chrross’ eyes looked when you had pulled the trigger. You actively worked to pull yourself together, fearing that you would fall apart at any moment.

"What. Happened." He didn't even look at you, didn't even fucking glance over his shoulder to watch you stumble into the cockpit, to collapse into the chair. 

"Someone tried to take the kid," you whispered, exhaling, your voice small.

"What did you do?" He finally swiveled to look at you. Something about his tone irritated you, it grated at you, it made you feel guilty...

"What did _I do_? You think this was _my_ fault?" you asked, incredulous. 

"You wanted to pick a fucking fight," he argued, standing up and pacing across the cockpit, his hands closing and opening repeatedly into balled fists, "and you got a fight."

"You're an _asshole_ did you know that?" you hissed, restraining the urge to lunge at him. You could've... you could've pushed him down the ladder that lay in front of him, could finally lash out at him in the way he had lashed out at you on D'Qar... "This wasn't my fault!"

"It's never your fucking fault," he muttered under his breath, thick with sarcasm. "You're just the _victim_."

"You know what, Mando," you spat, standing up from the chair, clutching your side, "fuck you. If you had only _listened to me-"_

"About what?" His voice raised, as close to a shout as you had ever heard him. "That it was _dangerous? _" His helmet cocked to the side, mocking you, his pitching lifting in a sickening lilt. "This is my world," he hissed, "and if you can't deal with it, I'll let you off at the next stop."__

____

____

That finally got you. This wasn't your fucking fault, and you wanted to wring his neck for suggesting that it was. You had lived around danger, you had negotiated with whoever had flown to your ship hangar, and you had a pretty fair intuition for things. Your problem wasn't the _danger_ of it- no, that was practically second nature- it was the fact that he still refused to listen to you and trust your judgment. You walked up to him and gave his back a sudden shove, as hard as you could manage. You had hoped it would send it tumbling down the ladder, but then... maybe you didn't know Mando as well as you thought you did. Didn't know his body as well as you thought. 

He stepped forward only a single step. Your blood chilled when he turned to you. 

His hands gripped your waist, holding you hard against the wall of the cockpit. You hissed as his hands gripped you, sending a shooting pain through your side. 

"Ow," you gasped, squirming under his grasp, leaning your torso away from his touch. 

Mando's shoulders squared. He paused a moment, taking a step back from you, his anger vanishing in the blink of an eye. His hands hung by his sides and he looked at you skeptically. Inquisitively. 

“What's wrong?” he asked, finally, his gaze focusing on you with a glaring intensity. The roughness gone from its edge, his voice was lower, softer coming through the modulator. "Did I... hurt... you?"

You shook your head, brushing him off, locking away your fear and your tears beneath your wall of aloofness. “No... fuck... don't change the subject,” you said, blatantly lying. "It's just a cramp."

Mando stepped forward and took your hand, lifting it from your side, your mouth dropping open at what you saw.

Your shirt had been singed away, revealing an oblong, angry red burn on the curve of your waist.

“A cramp,” he repeated, a breathless chuckle, “a fucking blaster burn and you thought it was just a cramp.”

Your head swam. When had you been shot? When everything happened in the cantina, you thought you had been so fast… had someone grazed you then? Did someone follow you out into the street? Even now, the memory was being blocked out, being replaced by adrenaline-fueled darkness.

“I… I don’t… how?” you stammered, holding your hand out, expecting it to be red with blood. _Idiot_ , you thought, it was just a burn. You blinked rapidly, hiding away the emotion. Even in this most crucial moment, you couldn’t let him know how badly you had been shaken. You couldn’t let him think you were weak. “You should see the other guy,” you gave a nervous laugh.

Mando shifted, guiding you to the chair in the cockpit, removing a panel on the floor and retrieving medical supplies. Stars, how many more compartments to this ship existed that you didn’t know of? He pulled off his glove, entrancing you with the way he tugged on each finger individually before revealing beautiful, golden brown skin and a soft palm.

_"Did I hurt you?"_

He seemed to be muttering to himself and you didn’t feel compelled to reply. His question seemed a trap of a sentiment, something that could be read into, something that you could easily over-analyze. He had been more than willing to hurt anyone in the past, even you. He had seemed so keen on shooting you on Tatooine, of warning you with his hand around your throat on D'Qar... Mando wasn't one to question himself, he was a man of absolutes, of non-negotiable actions. For him to doubt his own intentions was a new sentiment that you chose not to over-analyze. To not complicate further. So, like the memory of Chrross’ carcass, you chose to ignore him and pretend he had never said anything. You shifted in your seat, sending a stab of pain coursing through your side, and you exhaled sharply, squeezing your eyes shut.

Mando bent down next to you, carefully inspecting the blaster mark.

“Tell me what happened.".

You told him, as best as you could, what you remembered. You left out how intimidating Chrross had been, how for a moment you were well and truly terrified. That through your terror, you barely remembered the run back to the ship, your call to him.

He stayed silent as you talked, using his thumb to swipe thick mend-gel over the burn on your side. You tried not to let your breath hitch as he worked, the unfamiliar feeling of his fingers on your skin sending shivers up your spine. He only briefly glanced up at you when you told him that you had shot Chrross, the lingering pause that ensued. 

“I’m… sorry.”

You sat up somewhat straighter in the chair, ignoring the sting of the burn on your side. After his mood only fractions of minutes before, the _last_ thing you expected was an apology. “What?”

“The kid... he's all I have. You said that someone tried to take him and I... panicked." He didn't look up at you when he spoke, he remained fixated on your burn, working diligently on you. "But... I should have listened to you,” he said. “You were right. I shouldn’t have left you alone. And I shouldn't have... gotten angry. At you. I overreacted and... made assumptions. That were wrong.”

His voice stuttered over the words, as if they were unfamiliar sentiments. 

You swallowed. You _were_ right, and you were glad that he was swallowing his pride for even a moment… you only wished that it hadn’t taken a near-death experience for him to say it. Wished it hadn't taken an argument, a lingering hangover from this morning, so long ago. “Thank you,” you said quietly, barely a whisper. “The kid’s safe, that’s all that matters.”

“That’s _not_ all that matters,” he shot back, a growl trapped in the back of his throat. “It’s my job to protect you and the child…” he trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

You? When had you been lumped into his list of priorities?

“I’m supposed to keep you safe...” he said, placing a Bacta micropatch over the burn and meditatively rubbing his thumb over it. He gingerly held your waist, his other hand resting on your knee. "You said it wasn't your fault, and I... believe you." “You said something was wrong, and I didn’t… I thought… and now you’re...”

“Mando, it’s just a graze-”

His hand gripped your knee. “I won’t make the same mistake.”

It was one of those rare moments where Mando surprised you. You didn’t have anything to say, so you stared at him, dumbstruck, and nodded your head. What do you say to that? Thank you? It didn’t seem sufficient. 

“Have two more pucks, and then Nevarro…” he said, more to himself than to you. He looked up at you suddenly, as if remembering that you sat in front of him. 

“Go get some sleep,” he said.

“I’m not-”

“I know you’re not tired,” he said. He got up from the floor and sat back in his seat before the controls. “But you will be. You’ll be surprised how tired you really are. When the fear subsides.”

Your jaw clenched. An automatic retort back to him, to save some face, to hide what you perceived as a weakness, “I wasn’t afraid.”

He nodded slightly, a small sigh escaping, almost too small to be picked up by the modulator. “Get some sleep. That’s an order. I’ll watch the kid.”

You realized suddenly he was giving you an out. He was giving you an opportunity to slide away, as you always did, when you got too close to talking about feelings, of opening up, of being honest. He saw right through you and your fake bravado and saw just how shaken up you were, and he was choosing to ignore it. You hated it. You hated how he seemed to pick up on everything, on how you already felt the memories of the cantina flooding back to you. You hated when he told you what to do. You hated that you still felt like you could cry out a small ocean. You hated that he was right, that as you climbed down the ladder from the cockpit you could already feel the wave crashing, your eyelids drooping.

But mostly, you hated that he wasn’t by your side, crawling under the covers with you, holding you so tightly you never had to think about pulling that damn trigger ever again.

You were asleep before your head hit the pillow.


End file.
